I'm working on the world,revised, improved edition,featuring fun for fools,blues for brooders,combs for bald pates,tricks for old dogs.Here's one chapter: The Speechof Animals and Plants.Each species comes, of course,with its own dictionary.Even a simple "Hi there,"when traded with a fish,make both the fish and youfeel quite extraordinary.The long-suspected meaningsof rustlings, chirps, and growls!Soliloquies of forests!The epic hoot of owls!Those crafty hedgehogs draftingaphorisms after dark,while we blindly believethey are sleeping in the park!Time (Chapter Two) retainsits sacred right to meddlein each earthly affair.Still, time's unbounded powerthat makes a mountain crumble,moves seas, rotates a star,won't be enough to tearlovers apart: they aretoo naked, too embraced,too much like timid sparrows.Old age is, in my book,the price that felons pay,so don't whine that it's steep:you'll stay young if you're good.Suffering (Chapter Three)doesn't insult the body.Death? It comes in your sleep,exactly as it should.When it comes, you'll be dreamingthat you don't need to breathe;that breathless silence isthe music of the darkand it's part of the rhythmto vanish like a spark.Only a death like that. A rosecould prick you harder, I suppose;you'd feel more terror at the soundof petals falling to the ground.Only a world like that. To diejust that much. And to live just so.And all the rest is Bach's fugue, playedfor the time beingon a saw.