A written word is the choicest of relics,
It is something at once more intimate with us,
And more universal than any other work of art,
Just as books are the treasured wealth of the world,

I wanted to live deliberately,
So I went to the woods,
And I found it wholesome to be alone there,
For we need the tonic of wildness,

A single gentle rain,
Makes the grass many shades greener,
So our prospects brighten,
On the influx of better thoughts,

We should be blessed if we lived in the present always,
And took advantage of every accident that befell us.

almost like a ruler, these help make
this one big thing, a –––––
these rulers have no marks from men
but only ones from He
little younglings coalesce in these
rulers which forms a ––––––
as the day leaves; season changes
the colors part from thee
and when all gone another thing
coats the beautiful –––––
stuff like sugar and almost as
plentiful as the sea

As I sit and write,
I glance down the aisle,
all my friends,
from the best to the vile,
we all relax in our seats,
awaiting for our arrival,
all chattering to each other,
even if their a rival,
see, it’s not the destination that matters,
I don’t even know where we’re going,
it’s about spending time together,
and there’s something worth knowing,

that we’re taking a bus ride,
and it’s by the journey that we’re defined

Silence,
thoughtful silence,
what has everybody just read?
murmur,
quiet murmur,
when everybody starts thinking,
talking,
finally talking,
and sadly everybody returns to their lives.