Mollified tophat, do not look sad. Your bunnies are safe in my cosmos. Your duff and dander are well gathered, well tended. Tomorrow may you be donned atop the head of dear Lazarus. Tip yourself at will; right yourself. Who might know the joy you will bring the risen one?

The streets are tidy in your absence; tiny hands patter on damp asphalt. Exhalt your presence in the void; avoid self-pity, you are righteous. Your creations create without you; don't rival them, you ribald, slight hand.

Heads were made to be bare. Carry that burden as your solace.

Dark forms crowd in a dark place. Gather up your muffler and mittens. They will comfort you until you rise again, spun an amble hand and nimble fingers.