It’s a hard pill to swallow knowing
In two months we’ve lost some of
The best actors
The best writers
The best musicians.
It seems the gravedigger never puts on the forceps
In between shovels of dirt and mud and misery,
But the gardener waters budding flowers for us
To garnish our tables and nurture our kin.
There’s life in those roots that are plucked from the ground
And even more so when they’re put beneath it.
Nesbit and Gibley 