Our happiness here is all vain glory,
This false world is but transitory,
The flesh is weak, the Fiend is slee
Timor mortis conturbat me.
--William Dunbar
Poems were like people. Some people you got right off the bat. Some people you just don't get - and never would get. — Benjamin Alire Saenz, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe