To be and yet to be …
“A poet is a nightingale who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds; his auditors are as men entranced by the melody of an unseen musician, who feel that they are moved and softened, yet know not whence or why.” – Shelley
https://ofpeasantsandothermatters.wordpress.com/poetry-other-verse/ἐλαία-elaia/
https://ofpeasantsandothermatters.wordpress.com/poetry-other-verse/the-death-of-luz/
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