To a poet the mere making of a poem can seem to solve the problem of truth but only a problem of art is solved in poetry.

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When I was little we lived on 8 acres and my mom had a horse. But when I was 7 my mom kicked my dad out and then in order to feed us five kids she got critters cheap or for free and raised them for food. We milked a cow raised chickens pigs and beef cattle. We heated our one-story house with wood and stayed cold all winter.