The earth has grown old
with its burden of care
but in truth it always is young
The heart of the jewel
burns lustrous and fair,
and its soul full of music breaks the air
When the song of angels is sung.
This is guilt, if anything is guilt: not to multiply a loved one's freedom by all the freedom we can find in ourselves. We have, in loving, only this one task: to let each other go. For holding on is easy for us, nothing we need learn.