I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground
So it is, and so it will be, for it has been, time out of mind
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely
Crowned with lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew
A formula, a phrase remains - but the best is lost

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love -
they are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses of the world.

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.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay.

“Following a stroke, her recovery was remarkable.  She had three extensive head-to-toe examinations by the NHS who could find nothing amiss.  Four days following the third all-clear examination I was told that my mother had three weeks to live.  Nine days later she had withered and died without any attempt by the NHS to save her life. Once the NHS waves you off with paracetamol, get ready to meet your maker. The official cause of my mother’s death was not the trendy and unquestionable “covid” - but, instead, cancer of the gallbladder … which had gone undetected by the NHS during their three thorough investigations.
How I wish to all gods that my mother had expressed no faith in the NHS.  She might still be alive today.”

Morrissey. 23 August 2020.

https://twitter.com/SamEstyRayner/status/1297665436574785537?s=20

Morrissey's VAUXHALL AND I has re-entered the UK chart at number 11.

The album reached number 1 in 1994, and also re-entered the UK Chart at number 63 in 2014.

I thought perhaps I’d expressed enough defective needle gratitude for the flowers arriving at the house and adorning the gates and walls for my mother’s terrible, terrible death. I find I must say more - because they keep coming … from all over the world … Israel, Brazil, Peru, Argentina, Poland, Italy … communicating, in their way, a whole sense of truth, one that perhaps tells us that there is no reasonable explanation how love comes and goes.
The death of our mothers somehow tend to clear the ground for some form of reconstruction. Although technically past adolescence, this does not apply to me. See, the sea wants to take me, and let that be the boy’s traditional right, for we all have no interest in hanging around in order to be overtaxed, or to be repeatedly bashed about the head by the Idiot Culture that now rules England with an iron rod.
Had my mother been the mother of some politely antiseptic Hell-given pop star, her passing would be known to all and she would light up the New York Film Festival of 2020. But, no.

However, Love is all that matters, and those who resist it are the losers.

Morrissey
17 August 2020.