I am not tired. I am expectant as a runner is Before a race, a child before a feast day, A woman at the gates of life and death, Expectant for us all… - Stephen Vincent Benét

Of all the Christbitten places in the two hemispheres, (Los Angeles) is the last curly kink in the pig's tail.

It is not given me to trace The lovely laughter of that face, Like a clear brook most full of light, Or olives swaying on a height, So silver they have wings, almost; Like a great word once known and lost And meaning all things. Nor her voice A happy sound where larks rejoice, Her body, that great loveliness, The tender fashion of her dress, I may not paint them. These I see, Blazing through all eternity, A fire-winged sign, a glorious tree!

For those who still said "Red Front" or "God save the Crown!" And for those who were not courageous But were beaten nevertheless. For those who spit out the bloody stumps of their teeth Quietly in the hall, Sleep well on stone or iron, watch for the time And kill the guard in the privy before they die, Those with the deep-socketed eyes and the lamp burning.