Here's A Song Was Never Sung: Growing

Listen, Children: Your Father Is Dead. From His Old Coats I'll Make You Little Jackets; I'll Make You Little Trousers From His Old Pants. There'll Be In His Pockets Things He Used To Put There, Keys And Pennies Covered With Tobacco; Dan Shall Have The Pennies To Save In His Bank; Anne Shall Have The Keys To Make A Pretty Noise With. Life Must Go On, Though Good Men Die; Anne, Eat Your Breakfast; Dan, Take Your Medicine; Life Must Go On; I Forget Just Why.

My Candle Burns At Both Ends; It Will Not Last The Night; But Ah, My Foes, And Oh, My Friends - It Gives A Lovely Light!

This Have I Known Always: Love Is No More Than The Wide Blossom Which The Wind Assails, Than The Great Tide That Treads The Shifting Shore, Strewing Fresh Wreckage Gathered In The Gales; Pity Me That The Heart Is Slow To Learn, That The Swift Mind Beholds At Every Turn.

Please Give Me Some Good Advice In Your Next Letter. I Promise Not To Follow It.

Progress-progress Is The Dirtiest Word In The Language-who Ever Told Us- And Made Us Believe It-that To Take A Step Forward Was Necessarily, Was Always A Good Idea?