A Bird came down the Walk – He did not know I saw – He bit an Angleworm in halves And ate the fellow, raw, And then he drank a Dew From a convenient… - Emily Dickinson

When Jesus tells us about his Father, we distrust him. When he shows us his Home, we turn away, but when he confides to us that he is 'acquainted with Grief', we listen, for that also is an Acquaintance of our own.

She dealt her pretty words like blades — how glittering they shone — and every one unbared a nerve
or wantoned with a bone — She never deemed — she hurt — that — is not steel’s affair — a vulgar grimace in the flesh — how ill the creatures bear — To ache is human — not polite — the film upon the eye
mortality’s old custom — just locking up — to die.

Victory comes late,
And is held low to freezing lips
Too rapt with frost
To take it.