Little Fly,
Thy summer’s play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away.Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?For I dance
And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.If thought is life
And strength and breath
And the want
Of thought is death;Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.
– William Blake, Songs of Innocence and of Experience
It came as a shock when news of his passing reached me. Here was a man who was always nice to those around him, and who worked for him. Here was a man who had so much passion in sports, in living a healthy lifestyle. Here was a man who was capable, and thus was a rising star in the company. Here was a man, with a family, and another kid on the way.
Sometimes, life really isn’t fair.
