IN LOVING MEMORY - My Mother Is A Survivor In Loving Memory Tears, Idle Tears When We Two Parted To A Lady On The Dealth Of Her Husband - Writers Writing - http://maxpages.com/poetrykorner/InMemory

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IN LOVING MEMORY

My Mother Is A Survivor
In Loving Memory
Tears, Idle Tears
When We Two Parted
To A Lady On The Dealth Of Her Husband

My Mom Is A Survivor
By Kaye Des'Ormeaux

My Mom is a survivor,
or so I've heard it said.
But I can hear her crying at night,
when all others are in bed.

I watch her lay awake at night
and go to hold her hand.
She doesn't know I'm with her
to help her understand.

But like the sands on the beach
that never wash away.
I watch over my surviving mom,
who thinks of me each day.

She wears a smile for others.
a smile of disguise!
But through Heaven's door
I see tears flowing from her eyes.

My mom tries to cope with death
to keep my memory alive.
But anyone who knows her knows
it is her way to survive.

As I watch over my surviving mom
through Heaven's open door.
I try to tell her
that angels protect me forevermore.

I know that doesn't help her.
or ease the burden she bears.
So if you get a chance, go visit her
and show her that you care.

For no matter what she says,
no matter what she feels.
My surviving mom has a broken heart
that time won't ever heal.

In Loving Memory
To have loved one, then lost,
is still better than to have never been so blessed.

To have been enriched by one's cheerfulness,
their memory lingers on.

Their hopes and ideals in the crevices of your mind,
their wisdom is there when you need it.

Whatever was good and noble within your loved one,
they still live through you.

May their life have had purpose and meaning
by keeping their good seed alive.

Only then can we truly say,
"In Loving Memory."

God be with you and yours
through this difficult time.
Joyce C. Lock
Copyright 2002

Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809–1892)
"Tears, Idle Tears"

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
That brings our friends up from the underworld,
Sad as the last which reddens over one
That sinks with all we love below the verge;
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns
The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.

Dear as remembered kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned
On lips that are for others; deep as love,
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;
O Death in Life, the days that are no more!

George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788–1824)
"When We Two Parted"

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow—
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me—
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well—
Long, long shall I rue thee,
To deeply to tell.

In secret we met—
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?—
With silence and tears.

Phillis Wheatley (1753–1784)
"To a Lady on the Death of Her Husband"

Grim monarch! see, depriv'd of vital breath,
A young physician in the dust of death:
Dost thou go on incessant to destroy,
Our griefs to double, and lay waste our joy?
"Enough" thou never yet wast known to say,
Though millions die, the vassals of thy sway:
Nor youth, nor science, nor the ties of love,
Nor aught on earth thy flinty heart can move.
The friend, the spouse from his dire dart to save,
In vain we ask the sovereign of the grave.
Fair mourner, there see thy lov'd Leonard laid,
And o'er him spread the deep impervious shade;
Clos'd are his eyes, and heavy fetters keep
His senses bound in never-waking sleep,
Till time shall cease, till many a starry world
Shall fall from heav'n, in dire confusion hurl'd,
Till nature in her final wreck shall lie,
And her last groan shall rend the azure sky:
Not, not till then his active soul shall claim
His body, a divine immortal frame.

But see the softly-stealing tears apace
Pursue each other down the mourner's face;
But cease thy tears, bid ev'ry sigh depart,
And cast the load of anguish from thine heart:
From the cold shell of his great soul arise,
And look beyond, thou native of the skies;
There fix thy view, where fleeter than the wind
Thy Leonard mounts, and leaves the earth behind.
Thyself prepare to pass the vale of night
To join for ever on the hills of light:
To thine embrace his joyful sprit moves
To thee, the partner of his earthly loves;
He welcomes thee to pleasures more refin'd,
And better suited to th' immortal mind.

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