For the last few days I have been walking around with the words to a Robert Frost poem in my head.
The poem begins this way:
���Oh, stormy stormy world,
The days you were not swirled
Around with mist and cloud . . .���
I���ve memorized the whole of the poem so that I can say the words as a blessing at a celebration I���m attending later in the week.
The title alone strikes me as a blessing:
���Happiness Makes Up in Height for What it Lacks in Length.���
And it does do that, doesn���t it?
Ha...