The poet's job is to put into words those feelings we all have that are so deep, so important, and yet so difficult to name, to tell the truth in such a beautiful way, that people cannot live without it.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoopin the oats, to air in the lunglet evening come.Let it come, as it will, and don'tbe afraid. God does not leave uscomfortless, so let evening come.

And I knew thenthat I would have to live, and go on living: what sorrow it was;and still what sorrow ignitesbut does not consume my heart.

And from that day oneverything under the sun and moonmade me sad—