The nearest friends can go
With anyone to death, comes so far short
They might as well not try to go at all.
No, from the time when one is sick to death,
One is alone, and he dies more alone.
Friends make pretence of following to the grave,
But before one is in it, their minds are turned
And making the best of their way back to life
And living people, and things they understand.

Robert Frost (1874-1963) American poet
“Home Burial” (1914)

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Added on 1-Jul-08 | Last updated 1-Jul-08
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