One dies, another comes. Souls leave, where do they go. No one can say for sure. But when the baby deer, baby baby comes, we know where they go: right to their mother’s breasts.
And life is a circle, a world wind circle. One day with your mother, the next out in the cold looking for a stranger to make you happy.
It’s not an easy life but a good life, no matter how rich or poor. I said once: damn the rich, damn them for they know not, not the beauty and the courage to be poor.