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To: Rambi who wrote (9)	1/13/2000 1:32:00 AM
From: iandiareii	Respond to of 28

Poetry, with big questions thrown in gratis Days P. Larkin What are days for? Days are where we live. They come, they wake us Time and time over. They are to be happy in: Where can we live but days? Ah, solving that question Brings the priest and the doctor In their long coats Running over the fields.

To: Rambi who wrote (9)	1/13/2000 1:43:00 AM
From: iandiareii	Respond to of 28

Or maybe this one, wholly an extended capital Q? Danse Russe William Carlos Williams If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists above shining trees,- if I in my north room dance naked, grotesquely before my mirror waving my shirt round my head and singing softly to myself: "I am lonely, lonely, I was born to be lonely, I am best so!" If I admire my arms, my face, my shoulders, flanks, buttocks against the yellow drawn shades,- Who shall say I am not the happy genius of my household?