It seems we have made pain some kind of mistake, like having it is somehow wrong.

Don't let them fool you—pain is a part of things.

But remember, dear Ellie, the compost down in the field: if the rank and dank and dark

are handled well, not merely discarded, but turned and known and honored, they one day come to beds of rich earth home even to the most delicate rose.

Teddy Macker from Poem for my Daughter