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Excerpt: Poetry owes its lure and luster to lies and fiction. The
poet lets his imagination run wild, and roams about unbridled beyond the realm
of reality. The more he indulges his imagination, the prettier is his poem. The
further he flies into the land of fancy, the more fanciful and fabulous is his
fiction. Truth is an early casualty of his excursion into the land of fantasy.
Phrases are his toys and fiction is his field of play. Words are his tools,
and his workshop is the beauty parlor, where simple becomes sensual and
sensational, and plain facts are dressed up to appear pretty and presentable.
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