There is a time for hello and a time for good-bye. It's why the act of burying thing seems natural, but the act of digging them up does not.
No one is so foolish as to prefer to peace, war, in which, instead of sons burying their fathers, fathers bury their sons.
I started composting in 1970 by taking my food scraps out behind where I lived and burying them in a hole next to the railroad tracks - and green things started to grow there!
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