E. E. Cummings

Unbeing dead isn't being alive.

Unbeing dead isn't being alive.

Private property began the instant somebody had a mind of his own.

Private property began the instant somebody had a mind of his own.

Here is little Effie's head. Her brains are made of gingerbread. When
the judgement day comes, God will find six read more

Here is little Effie's head. Her brains are made of gingerbread. When
the judgement day comes, God will find six crumbs. Stooping by the coffin
lid waiting for something to rise as the something's always did. Imagine
His surprise, bellowing above the general noise, "Where is Effie? She
was dead." Back to God in a tiny voice: "My name's Maybe."
The first crumb said. The number two crumb picked up the song.
"Might, I'm called. I've done no wrong." Cried the third crumb,
"I am Should. Here's our little brother Could and my big sister
Would. Don't punish us for we've been good." And the last crumb, with
some shame, whispered unto God, "My name is Must and with the others,
we've been Effie, who isn't alive and never was. Cross the threshold have
no dread. Lift the sheet back in this way.

I thank you God for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and for the blue read more

I thank you God for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and for the blue dream of sky and for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes.

To like an individual because he's black is just as insulting as to dislike him because he isn't white.

To like an individual because he's black is just as insulting as to dislike him because he isn't white.