Those Who Have Lost An

Those Who Have Lost An Infant Are Never, In A Way, Without An Infant.

There Seems A Life In Hair, Though It Be Dead.

Tears Hinder Sorrow From Becoming Despair.

Green Little Vaulter, In The Sunny Grass, Catching Your Heart Up At The Feel Of June, Sole Noise That's Heard Amidst The Lazy Noon, When Ev'n The Bees Lag At The Summoning Brass.

A Pleasure So Exquisite As Almost To Amount To Pain.