From 'somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond' by e.e. cummings:
"nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility:whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing...
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands"
In spite of it all, there is always poetry. Happy National Poetry Month! (let's hope that doesn't get taken away, too)