She raised nine children
in that house at Laurel.
An eyesore to the drivers
passing, on their way to Canada,
so baby-powder blue.

But looking back,
it suited all of you.

Ralph was a linesman
for the company,
communication is
the future, so he said,
and often gone,
but always home
for Christmas.

He died last year,
I was not at the grave.

Your heart of gold
was always happy
to behold
the inner beauty
of all people.
You took the time
that had not even
been created
and loved the world,
with not a mean word
in your repertoire.

It stopped that night
as gently as you lived
as if to not disturb
your last night's sleep.
And you have gone now
to the other, better side.

I have not seen your grave
but rest in peace
and confidence.
I will.

Herbert Nehrlich

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/naomi-bird/