

—Because I’ve been working for a living.
—What do you do when you’re not working for a living?
—I live.
That’s tough
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death…
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass…
… of glory in the flower,
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind.
(Wordsworth)
Where does the love go, Frozen to grief ?
(Lucy Larcom, “Snow bloom” 1880)