On me, on me
Time and change can heap no more!
The painful past with blighting grief
read more

On me, on me
Time and change can heap no more!
The painful past with blighting grief
Hath left my heart a withered leaf.
Time and change can do no more.

Were floods of tears to be unloosed
In tribute to my grief,
The doves of Noah ne'er read more

Were floods of tears to be unloosed
In tribute to my grief,
The doves of Noah ne'er had roost
Nor found an olive-leaf.

Oh Martin Sometimes your voice was the thunder..Sometimes it was the falling rain. Always it burst our hearts asunder
and read more

Oh Martin Sometimes your voice was the thunder..Sometimes it was the falling rain. Always it burst our hearts asunder
and made them vibrate.. empathic in pain.

In all the silent manliness of grief.

In all the silent manliness of grief.

To spare oneself from grief at all cost can be achieved only at the price of total detachment, which excludes read more

To spare oneself from grief at all cost can be achieved only at the price of total detachment, which excludes the ability to experience happiness

Oh, well has it been said, that there is no grief like the grief
which does not speak!

Oh, well has it been said, that there is no grief like the grief
which does not speak!

When we hear oxymoron
we think that those
who eat oxen become morons
.. their brains occluded
by animal fat
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When we hear oxymoron
we think that those
who eat oxen become morons
.. their brains occluded
by animal fat
.. cannot receive oxygen
When we hear Oxfam
we think famine..
that those who promote
oxeating
create famine.

The purpose of a funeral service is to comfort the living. It is important at a funeral to display excessive read more

The purpose of a funeral service is to comfort the living. It is important at a funeral to display excessive grief. This will show others how kind-hearted and loving you are and their improved opinion of you will be very comforting.

Great, good, and just, could I but rate
My grief with thy too rigid fate,
I'd weep read more

Great, good, and just, could I but rate
My grief with thy too rigid fate,
I'd weep the world in such a strain
As it should deluge once again;
But since thy loud-tongued blood demands supplies
More from Briareus' hands than Argus' eyes,
I'll sing thy obsequies with trumpet sounds
And write thy epitaph in blood and wounds.