This cross was place on the front steps of my dad's house the morning he died.


when my dad died

rope heart

rope heart

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Sunday, June 7, 2015

  Thomas Moore (1779-1852)
      'TIS the last rose of summer,
            Left blooming alone ;
      All her lovely companions
            Are faded and gone ;
      No flower of her kindred,
            No rose-bud is nigh,
      To reflect back her blushes,
            Or give sigh for sigh.
      I'll not leave thee, thou lone one !
            To pine on the stem ;
      Since the lovely are sleeping,
            Go sleep thou with them.
      Thus kindly I scatter
            Thy leaves o'er the bed,
      Where thy mates of the garden
            Lie scentless and dead.
      So soon may I follow,
            When friendships decay,
      And from Love's shining circle
            The gems drop away.
      When true hearts lie wither'd,
            And fond ones are flown,
      Oh ! who would inhabit
            This bleak world alone ?