To see pure innocence in an old face
And wisdom in the eyes of a child
Whimsy in torrential rain
And strength in a light drizzle
Is to see the beginning and end
As one instance, without past or future
In the life of God

How privileged is he who composes the music of his life, to be played at his own funeral. It is a pity that we do not know that we are all composers in secret and that we each write our own cadences and requiems.