The little boy went first day of school He got some crayons and started to draw He put colors all over the paper For colors was what he saw And the teacher said.. 'What you doin' young man?' 'I'm paintin' flowers' he said She said... 'It's not the time for art young man And anyway flowers are green and red There's a time for everything young man And a way it should be done You've got to show concern for everyone else For you're not the only one.'

Corey's coming, no more sad stories coming My midnight-moonlight-morning-glory's coming aren't you girl? And like I told you, when she holds you She enfolds yo…

And she said... 'Flowers are red young man Green leaves are green There's no need to see flowers any other way Than they way they always have been seen.'

They put the cold dirt over him and left me on my own And when at last I looked up I saw I was not alone So I said- If you're a relative, he had a peaceful end…

Every child is born blessed with a vivid imagination. But just as a muscle grows flabby with disuse, so the bright imagination of a child pales in later years …

If I had to put a sign over my door, I would write 'School of Drawing' and I'm certain that I would create painters.

You advise me, too, not to stray far from the ground of experience, as I become weak when I enter the region of fiction; and you say, 'real experience is peren…