Life and Death
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The two old, simple problems ever intertwined,
Close home, elusive, present, baffled, grappled.
By each successive age insoluble, pass’d on,
To ours to-day—and we pass on the same.
|from Leaves of Grass: BOOK XXXIV. SANDS AT SEVENTY|
by Walt Whitman
|Thanks in Old Age||The Voice of the Rain|