Sometimes I think the world is just too much for those sensitive, empathetic souls in our midst, and they opt leave us quietly, when they have given all they can give.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
~Walt Whitman, “Leaves of Grass”