Quotes from Valerie Worth

Never let the mud puddle get lost in the poetry because, in many ways, the mud puddle is the poetry.

The tiger has swallowed a black sun. In his cold cage he carries it still. Black flames flicker through his fur. Black rays roar from the centers of his eyes.

The sun Is a leaping fire Too hot To go near, But it will still Lie down In warm yellow squares On the floor Like a flat Quilt, where The cat can curl and purr.