Be to her, Persephone,
     All the things I might not be;
     Take her head upon your knee.
     She that was so proud and wild,
     Flippant, arrogant and free,
     She that had no need of me,
     Is a little lonely child
     Lost in Hell,—Persephone,
     Take her head upon your knee;
     Say to her, "My dear, my dear,
     It is not so dreadful here."


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It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so.