No one has futility on their death certificate, and it’s not for want of trying.
No one has futility on their death certificate, and it’s not for want of trying.
“Yea, she hath passed hereby, and blessed the sheaves,
And the great garths, and stacks, and quiet farms,
And all the tawny, and the crimson leaves.
Yea, she hath passed with poppies in her arms,
Under the star of dusk, through stealing mist,
And blessed the earth, and gone, while no man wist.”
Frederic Manning | “Korè”