Salad Days!!

Do you recall W. B. Yeat's poem to his daughter--and its glorious bongo-beat of a line?

.....It's certain that fine women eat / A crazy salad with their meat....

.........................................................................

Then dig this, daddio and mommio.

Stanza 3 from E. St. V. Millay's cool poem:

PORTRAIT BY A NEIGHBOR

Before she has her floor swept
Or her dishes done,
Any day you’ll find her
A-sunning in the sun!

It’s long after midnight
Her key’s in the lock,
And you never see her chimney smoke
Till past ten o’clock!

She digs in her garden
With a shovel and a spoon,
She weeds her lazy lettuce
By the light of the moon,

She walks up the walk
Like a woman in a dream,
She forgets she borrowed butter
And pays you back cream!

Her lawn looks like a meadow,
And if she mows the place
She leaves the clover standing
And the Queen Anne’s lace!

Advice to a self-conscious writer

You see the words you typed on the screen. They stare (as it were) back at you, stupidly, 

embarrassingly. They are pitiably wrong. Not at all what you mean to say...nor what anyone 

could ever mean to say. They declare, as it were, your ignorance and your failure before the

whole world.

Here’s news you need. No one in the world sees your words. So, your ignorance, your 

defeat, remain well-kept secrets.

Now, be nice to your words. Even learn to love them. Help them grow. They are, as it were, 

your kids. Never be ashamed of your kids.