A kind companion

The poet is not the the soothsayer but the companion of the lonely. When the flesh feels the pang of the loss of a lover, or the murderous instinct of the mother remembering an infant's corpse, or the lone indescribable bliss of the warmth of the sun, the poet supplies words of communion. In the recognition, no experience is loss. Recognition. For no tree fell unheard and so no experience is loss.