To Whom It May Concern:

If life could be a court and we be tried,
Our guilt could be determined with precision.
Judges would due punishment provide
And close our cases with some just decision.
But rarely is our guilt so well defined.
Underground it rages unrestrained:
Above, defenses carefully aligned;
Below, no faintest trace of them retained.
For those who have such tragedies to bear
And cannot ever know their share of blame,
There is no court but their own hearts, and there
They are condemned to self-inflicted shame.
Such tender souls are fittest to be moved
By knowing that like all souls they are loved.



Penned by my hand on the 8th of Ferinus, in the year 88 AM.