If I profane with my unworthiest hand,this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand,to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. Have i done my hand wrong too much?Which mannerly devotion shows in this;For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,And palm to palm is holy palmers's kiss. Lips that they must use in prayer.Let lips do what hands do.

And allow my lips to touch yours,as for hands that we use for touching are a palmer's kiss,and shall we use lips that are for prayer for a true love's kiss.

This moth lives for just one day, and yet, you will never see it fall to the ground and curse the futility of its existence. Nor flowers weep when winter comes. Nor the moon sigh when dawn approaches. We are only ever given just so much. But it is always, all we need.

The sun still, surprisingly, came up and shone down onto the cold, metal leftovers. No loud noises. No screams. No breaking glass. Just silence and sunshine. You would be forgiven for thinking that this all happened on another planet. It didn't.