But on this spring evening, after stumbling across the news, I head towards bed sadly, remembering so many songs. Many will have their own favourites.
This one happens to be mine.
The old man has come home from the forest.
Be to her, Persephone, All the things I might not be; Take her head upon your knee. She that was so proud and wild, Flippant, arrogant and free, She that had no need of me, Is a little lonely child Lost in Hell, -- Persephone, Take her head upon your knee; Say to her, "My dear, my dear, It is not so dreadful here." - Edna St Vincent Millay
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