She Was Ninety Two ! (Poem on the death of my aunt).

Did you actually write that? It's kind of neat!
But I would still have cried if my grandmother died at 92, instead of 87.

Really really good fresco, and I'm picky about poetry.

Love the she/was stress changes, good stuff.

It really is.
very cute.

Thank you both.

I sometimes enjoy the challenge trying to mold my thoughts into a stylistic structure.

Memories of my aunt approaching one o one...

She would have really enjoyed your post/poem.

edit a doublet

Fresco--your poem is wonderful and evocative of other family gatherings at funerals. This line I found wryly appropriate:



Those smiles are always slightly sinister.

I really enjoyed that, fresco!

Bright screen,
that from far mouths their function takes,
Kind words more deep in comprehension makes.

Wherein it doth displace the hearing sense,
It pays the feeling double recompense.

(with apologies to the Bard !)

Finally found it, fresco.

In my family, funerals were a way to get together. Will never forget my father introducing one sister to another at the funeral of one of our kin.

I love the poem, however, for the sake of its simplicity.

For some reason, my father requested a wake, and my sister's advisor spent the entire evening drinking martinis and beer. (Brit, you know). His
lecture started out with the discussion of the epicanthic fold of the eyelid, and disintegrated into "the thing of the thing". Daddy would have loved it.