On the Death of a Child

The greatest griefs shall find themselves inside the smallest cage

It’s only then that we can hope to tame their rage,

The monsters we must live with. For it will not do
To hiss humanity because one human threw
Us out of heart and home. Or part
At odds with life because one baby failed to live.
Indeed, as little as its subject, is the wreath we give –
The big words fail to fit. Like giant boxes
Round small bodies. Taking up improper room,
Where so much withering is, and so much bloom.
 – D.J. Enright (1920-2002)