“Little world, full of little peopleshouting for recognition, screaming for love, Rolling world, teeming with millions,carousel of the hungry,Is there food enough? Wheat and corn will not do.The fat are the hungriest of all, the skinny the most silent.”

“What is life if not laughter and love, caring and compassion, fresh bread and crisp radishes?”

“I was born to catch dragons in their dens / And pick flowers / To tell tales and laugh away the morning / To drift and dream like a lazy stream / And walk barefoot across sunshine days.”

“Little world, full of scars and gashes, ripened with another's pain,Your flowers feed on carrion--so do your birds;Men feed on each other because you taught them life was cheap,Flowing from your endless womb without pain or understanding.No midwife caresses your flesh or bathes clean your progeny,Life spurts from you, little world,and you regard it with disdain.Only bruised men sense your cruelty, men whose life has lost its meaning.”

“I played God todayAnd it was fun!I made animals that men had never seenSo they would stop and scratch their headsInstead of scowling.I made words that men had never heardSo they would stop and stare at meInstead of running.And I made love that laughedSo men would giggle like childrenInstead of sighing.Tomorrow, perhaps, I won't be GodAnd you will know itBecause you won't see any three-headed catsOr bushes with bells on...I wish I could always play GodSo that lonely men could laugh!”

“Little world, full of little peopleshouting for recognition, screaming for love, Rolling world, teeming with millions,carousel of the hungry,Is there food enough? Wheat and corn will not do.The fat are the hungriest of all, the skinny the most silent.”

“Where are you hiding my love?Each day without you will never come again.Even today you missed a sunset on the ocean,A silver shadow on yellow rocks I saved for you,A squirrel that ran across the road,A duck diving for dinner.My God! There may be nothing left to show youSave wounds and wearinessAnd hopes grown dead,And wilted flowers I picked for you a lifetime ago,Or feeble steps that cannot run to hold you,Arms too tired to offer you to a roaring wind,A face too wrinkled to feel the ocean's spray.”