By: Ardis E. Parshall - January 31, 2017 Tribute By Helen Baker Adams This is the birthday of one whose eyesWere quietly closed in timelessnessBefore this home was born. Yet here by the fire is the rug she wove,And there hangs the cup with her name in gold,And her little black Bible lies worn. Her fern fronds green to greet this dayAnd my own small lad with her winsome smileMocks the grim meaning of mourn! (1950) ...
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