Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
from 'Dirge Without Music', Edna St Vincent Millay
Whenever we read together, as we had in Ireland and the UK and the United States,Dennis would joke that the evening might best have been billed as, “Death and Taxes,” what with the day jobs we were each indentured to. Of course, who would show up for such grim diversions? A preoccupation with poetry hardly advances one’s standing in the actual world..