Ireland , a photo by photomaker.pl on Flickr. HAD I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. by William Butler Yeats One of my favorite types of literature is the poem. Oh, not just any old poem. No, I want a poem that is full of angst and misery. I want a tragedy, a metaphorical blubbering drunk in a pub of a Saturday night. Give me a sad song and I will make it the most interesting piece of literature on God's green earth. Or at least I'll talk about it until you agree with me that it is the best poem on God's green earth. Poetry is a Monarch Butterfly. Poetry has no useful purpose but oh how it makes our lives so rich and full of meaning. We can take a poem and roll t...