The heart can think of no devotion Greater than being shore to the ocean- Holding the curve of one position, Counting an endless repetition. - Robert Frost

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, And spills the upper boulders in the sun; And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.

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.

Our very life depends on everything’s
Recurring till we answer from within.
The thousandth time may prove the charm.