Poetry is for the living,
but death
is what grants it meaning,
making time so fleeting
and love so precious
that even poetry
can scarcely
touch it.
Faith, Health, and Other Musings
May our minds flourish with creation, and may our hands never deny its expression.
Poetry is for the living,
but death
is what grants it meaning,
making time so fleeting
and love so precious
that even poetry
can scarcely
touch it.