It is as if she would not let us cry;
All peaceful seems the air in that small room-
The very atoms stand. My eyes are dry
For seconds few. No morbid fear of doom
For she who, in her death, uplifts these walls
Whose ruddy hue does Jesus' Passion show.
No, she, in bliss, now wanders Heaven's halls.
Her days, so fruitful, numbered in the snow,
Gave so much joy. Her spirit with us there,
Allowed only for love on its last day-
No anger, fear, or rage; now I can dare.
God knows our time, and that is why we pray.
Her kindness filled our house and lawn, our hearts;
This winter day her soul to Heaven starts.
( A sonnet by Sophie Saurette )