Mother, Social Worker, Opera Singer, World Traveller, Gardener, Humanitarian, lover and protector of all animals...............
Good by Mom, journey home. I will miss you.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
Mary Elizabeth Frye
Girl and Horse, 1928
You are younger than I am, you are
Someone I never knew, you stand
Under a tree, your face half-shadowed,
Holding the horse by its bridle.
Why do you smile? Can’t you
See the apple blossoms falling around
You, snow, sun, snow,
listen, the tree dries
and is being burnt, the wind
Is bending your body, your face
Ripples like water
Where did you go
But no, you stand there exactly
The same, you can’t hear me, forty
Years ago you were caught by light
And fixed in that secret
Place where we live, where we believe
Nothing can change, grow older.
(On the other side
of the picture, the instant
is over, the shadow
of the tree has moved. You wave,
then turn and ride
out of sight through the vanished
orchard, still smiling
as though you do not notice)