I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. “Alone, dear?” “Yes, aunt. She chastised herself for thinking of her husband and lord as being weak. The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. “Some of them seem to be having an awfully good time too. The aunt rushed over to her nephew, knelt and wrapped him in her arms. ’ He scratched his chin as if he thought about it, but covertly kept a careful study of what he could see of her face. In one of these seats, at the end of the aisle farthest removed from the chancel, the widow took her place, and addressed herself fervently to her devotions. Presently.
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