Chris
Premium Member
Layla's ashes arrived yesterday, and I wasn't prepared for how that would hit me. The bag is so small. I was reminded of Sara Henderson Hay's poignant Poem for a Dead Kitten:
Put the rubber mouse away,
Pick the spools up from the floor,
What was velvet shod, and gay,
Will not want them, any more.
What was warm, is strangely cold.
Whence dissolved the little breath?
How could this small body hold
So immense a thing as Death?

Put the rubber mouse away,
Pick the spools up from the floor,
What was velvet shod, and gay,
Will not want them, any more.
What was warm, is strangely cold.
Whence dissolved the little breath?
How could this small body hold
So immense a thing as Death?

