Few can say,

in the face of unforgiving torment,

that not all is lost,

that their son, who used to be

their smiling, happy boy,

will be so again.

This happy mask of comedy removed, you find either

a weeping actor’s face

or, in horror, some sternness

as beautiful in its innocence

as repulsive in its ignorance.

But life, as staged, is not comedy or tragedy

but some melancholy farce,

fun and horrible, its purpose unclear.

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