Ask not for whom the cradle weeps; it weeps for you. O sly kitten, O accursèd cat, cry, cry for the weft and the warp of the world; cry, cry for the sin and the sorrow and suffering; cry, cry on the bloodshed, but more on the tears; cry, cry for divisions, and ill-wrought connections; cry, cry for the laughter, so far out of reach; cry. And in crying find solace; peace——rhythm——be still. cry and cry——cry for the widows and widowers, woven together forever, by weeping and painless heart-let. But your pain is not theirs. For, though burdened with truth, you will never be cut by the serrated and blunted edge of polite fiction. Enough! When the cat's in the cradle, the mice will play, And I hope that they fly far——far-far away. But the tears of the kitten forever abide, and someday they'll catch you. will you take it in stride?