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Devoted to her children and their children, Taken up by quiet tedium: What's left when dreams are scattered to the wind. She loved too well, perhaps, and fought too hard To make a marriage work that wasn't right. She was, of all bright loveliness, a shard Struck off to bring our lives the gift of light. There are those whose lives are shaped by love; Whose pleasures, rich and full, are found in giving; Who make our wild hearts bloom and passions move Into measured fields made lush by living. Without her all the gold's gone from the day; She will be missed far more than we can say |