A Life Lived Well

Another friend has passed away, and will be dearly missed. Yesterday our book group honoured her memory by attending her funeral,  and spending time back at her house amongst her family and friends.  I always find it odd that we find out more about a person's life after they've died than is ever shared while we think we know them. 


Our quiet friend, of firm opinions softly spoken,
Will never again welcome us into her home, 
To discuss her choice of book, relish her homemade cakes,
To admire her eclectic collection of postcards on the loo wall,
To envy her stream-fed pond, her rambling cottage garden. 
Instead, her family warmly welcomes us in,
The house humming with tales from those who knew her well, 
Who somehow know us: our names, reputations, book choices,
Our faces smiling out from frames set among family photos;
All of us sharing stories of her love of nature, books, travels,
All of us honouring this steadfast, self-effacing woman,
Between us cherishing this chronicle of a full life, lived well. 


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