⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢉⣴⣶⣌⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢃⣴⣿⣇⡙⢿⣷⣄⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⡟⢋⣴⣿⣿⣄⠨⣍⡀⠙⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⡿⢉⣴⣿⣿⡈⣉⠛⢷⣌⣻⣿⠟⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⢃⣴⠿⢋⣉⠻⢧⡈⢴⣦⣾⠟⢡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⡘⢿⣷⣌⠁⣶⢌⣿⣾⠟⢡⣶⣌⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣷⣦⠙⢿⣷⣤⣾⠟⣡⣶⣦⠙⢿⣷⣌⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣆⣉⣉⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⡙⢿⣷⣄⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⡙⢿⣷⣌⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⠙⢿⣷⣌⠹⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⡙⢁⣴⣦⠙ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣌⠛⢋⣴

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Margaret, are you grieving Over Goldengrove unleaving? Leaves, like the things of man, You, with your fresh thoughts Care for, can you? Ah! as the heart grows older It will come to such sights colder By and by, nor spare a sigh Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie And yet you will weep and know why. Now no matter, child, the name Sorrow's springs are the same: It is the blight man was born for, It is Margaret you mourn for. -- Gerard Manley Hopk

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