The tragedies of daily life:
The loss of hopes, the rank despair,
Are multiplied a thousand times:
Above, below us: everywhere.
We think we empathise with woe;
We feel the masters of our grief.
Yet when we lock the door at night,
We slump in palpable relief.
When tiny agonies befall
A creature that we do not know,
Our remedy is to dispense
Some sympathy to dull the blow.
If we ourselves are subject to
The wounding of our fragile pride,
We grit our teeth and carry on;
Yet something precious dies inside.
Our loose resistance to such things,
Our weary instinct to comply,
Helps us avoid the worst of fates
As hurricanes and plagues fly by.
The tiny tragedies of life
Remain invisible to us.
In cities or in leafy groves
Small lives have ended, without fuss.