DEAD THIS TWENTY YEARS In the lustiness of youth there are many who cannot feel that they, too, will die.

The first fear stops the heart.

Even then they would keep death at arm's length by making believe to disown him.

Loved ones are taken away, and the boy, the girl, will not speak of them, as if that made the conqueror's triumph the less.

In time the fire in the breast burns low, and then in the last glow of the embers, it is sweeter to hold to what has been than to think of what may be.
Twenty years had passed since Joey ran down the brae to play.