The tree that grows to a great height wins to solitude even in a forest; its highest outshoots find no companions save the winds and the stars.—Frank Harris.
Poems
Clara Shanafelt
Fantastic
I have no thoughts, no more desires—
It is green and gray like a garden
Stirred by apple-scented wind,
Quick with the sense of cool and silver joys
That come in a rainy dance
When soft hands of clouds have pushed away