Instead of weeping when a tragedy occurs in a songbird's life, it sings away its grief. I believe we could well follow the pattern of our feathered friends.

Old Time the clock-setter.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.

In delay there lies no plenty.

Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir.

What fates impose, that men must needs abide; it boots not to resist both wind and tide.

Do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly. Then your love would also change.