Another pandemic poem written in spring. Nature carries on, oblivious to the human plague that has destroyed so many human lives and dreams. The Frost epigraph is a good question he often pondered. What can we make of a world that is less than what we once knew and believed? What is still humanly possible after myriad setbacks and crises? We must needs take instruction from the past and the great people of the past: “Hope is the thing with feathers.”–Emily Dickinson.