“What Other Can a Man Lay but Tragedy? What other can a man lay but tragedy? No other thing would be ripe in time. Grief is a flower that blooms often, And sorrow is the rain that waters it sometimes. Each man reaps what he once sows— With pain, and some with bitter ease. The sky above every head of gloom Grows thicker with clouds and earthly deeds. The field does not bloom in summer But on the last day of every man's each.”
Book:The Willow Song