I LOVE RHYMES; I love to write a poem about New YORK and rhyme 'oysters' with 'The Cloisters.' And 'The lady from Knoxville who bought her brassieres by the boxful.' I just feel a SORT of small TRIUMPH.

For EVERY MOMENT of triumph, for every INSTANCE of beauty, many SOULS must be trampled.

I once interviewed my grandma for a class project about the Second WORLD War. After 70 years filled with marriage, CHILDREN, GRANDCHILDREN, DEATH, poverty and triumph, the thing about which she was unquestionably the proudest and most EXCITED was that she and her family did their part during the war.

Not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are TRIUMPH and DEFEAT.