The nondescript that grow and grey,
like charcoals born from earthen grass,
whence clay is formed. Here life is kiln,
so all are ilk, creation lorn, this mother's milk.
This trial - These tears
From one stems some, throughout the years.
She's sown, she's reaped;
They've grown, she weeps;
The depths she's been
are heights they'll reach;
This well of wealth - beyond compare -
from which a wet is drawn;
to quell the fires of despair;
to quench both thirst and scorn.
She yawns of grief - this gentle soul;
These hands so frail, so strong;
Forever in our hearts remain this beauty now felt gone.
In dawn, in dusk, on earth, in space,
her presence always near...
Have peace; her spirit's now diffuse
in all that's life so dear.
Aft'all your mourning, rest assure
forever is now hers!
No humanness: today / tomorrow;
her legacy a loving bur.
Her essence clings to free from sorrow
those who wish her near;
A love so infinite to always stir & steer;
What's left behind is to remind
the beauty of her years.
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| R.I.P. Carmencita Nievera Barretto Monday, December 2, 2013, 11:24 a.m. |
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