Today we planted Mary's willow tree and dusted her ashes around the roots. I do not understand my feelings yet so I cannot write tonight....maybe tomorrow.....maybe never
Poetry is not an opinion expressed. It is a song that arises from a bleeding heart or a smiling mouth.
Kahlil Gibran
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Because of its tremendous solemnity death is the light in which great passions, both good and bad, become transparent, no longer limited by outward appearances. Soren Kierkegaard
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