Something we were withholding made us weak, until we found it was ourselves. - Robert Frost

It takes all sorts of in and outdoor schooling To get adapted to my kind of fooling.

My Sorrow, when she's here with me, Thinks these dark days of autumn rain Are beautiful as days can be; She loves the bare, the withered tree; She walks the sodden pasture lane.

First there's the children's house of make-believe, Some shattered dishes underneath a pine, The playthings in the playhouse of the children. Weep for what little things could make them glad.