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But maybe it's up in the hills under the leaves or in a ditch somewhere. Maybe it's never found. Bu
But maybe it's up in the hills under the leaves or in a ditch somewhere. Maybe it's never found. Bu
But maybe it's up in the hills under the leaves or in a ditch somewhere. Maybe it's never found. Bu
But maybe it's up in the hills under the leaves or in a ditch somewhere. Maybe it's never found. Bu
But maybe it's up in the hills under the leaves or in a ditch somewhere. Maybe it's never found. Bu
But maybe it's up in the hills under the leaves or in a ditch somewhere. Maybe it's never found. Bu
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Paul Engle:
Verse is not written, it is bled; Out of the poet's abstract head. Words drip the poem on the page;Paul Engle:
Poetry is ordinary language raised to the Nth power. Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and bloodedPaul Engle:
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To eat in the same room where food is cooked - that is the way to thank the Lord for His abundance.