I'm also reminded of the grief of a dear old man with whom Atticus talked after Mass last week. As others -- including me -- chatted and laughed and caught up with one another, this dear man was breaking down, unable to escape the sadness he has felt since last spring, when he lost his wife of sixty-five years.
Grief and suffering are like that, as this poem so perfectly illustrates:
About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
The rest of the poem can be found here.
And the entire Poetry Friday round-up is here, at Read, Write, Believe.