Gross, Wrong, Tragic

Paul Wellstone, a rare light in so much dire political darkness, is dead. Words seem useless now.

Why then, why there,
Why thus, we cry, did he die?
The heavens are silent.

What he was, he was;
What he is fated to become
Depends on us.

Remembering his death,
How we choose to live
Will decide its meaning.

When a just man dies,
Lamentation and praise,
Sorrow and joy, are one.

(W.H. Auden, Elegy for JFK)