"I wrote about a bird that cleaned a crocodile's teeth. The story was so good that my teacher could not believe that a ten-year-old could write that well. I was even punished because my teacher thought I'd lied about writing it! I had always loved to write, but it was then that I realized that I had a talent for it."

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When the tribal groups of december trade Seated in the figure of crocodile And songs are sung and deals discussed, are made Real. All... For more than one reason they smile. These codes are writ in secret, feeling fine To keep what's private to my self since we All must face our maker in our own ryhme And reasons for being ( from regrets) free So let the memory of your glory Be the tenderness heartfelt love starkly In the sky of my mind vast and pretty Evermore glittering simplicity Where in the truth of country grows sober And sunshines through fog to radiate wonder

— John Armstrong