fro,
| Cruel claw and and hungry throat,
| Or else they stand and sniff the wind,
| And shake their ragged wings;  alas!
| Thy tender eyes grow all unkind:
| Gaze no more in the bitter glass.
|
| William Butler Yeats, 'The Two Trees'

The glasses raised by others have shown me reflections
of myself that I must reflect on further -- someday we
may have the chance to discuss the practical necessity
of poetic discipline for certain types of temperament --
I know that some will suspect me of chaining together
a