Pastoral Resources

I have been in Sorrow's kitchen and licked out all the pots. Then I have stood on the peaky mountain wrapped in rainbows, with a harp and sword in my hands.

Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.

Weekends are a bit like rainbows; they look good from a distance but disappear when you get up close to them.

Most of all the other beautiful things in life come by twos and threes, by dozens and hundreds. Plenty of roses, stars, sunsets, rainbows, brothers and sisters, aunts and cousins, but only one mother in the whole world.