One more, and this is one of my favorite poems.
It's called, "Little Libby," and it's
by Julia A. Moore, who was the "Sweet Singer of Michigan"
in the 19th century.
I think she wrote most of her poems
for the Benton Harbor Gazette, and it's a very moving poem.
I think you will agree.
"Little Libby."
"One more little spirit to Heaven
has flown, to dwell in that mansion above,
where dear little angels, together roam,
in God's everlasting love.
One little flower has withered and died,
a bud near ready to bloom, its life on Earth
is marked with pride; oh, sad it should die so soon.
Sweet little Libby that precious flower
was a pride in her parents' home,
they miss their little girl every hour--"
And every is in italics by the way.
"--every hour, those friends that are left to mourn.
Her sweet silvery voice no more is
heard in the home where once she roamed; her place is vacant--"
Again in italics.
"--vacant around the hearth, where her friends are mourning
lone.
They are mourning the loss of a little girl,
with black eyes and auburn hair, she
was a treasure to them in this world,
this beautiful child so fair.
One morning in April, a short time
ago, Libby was active and gay; her Savior
called her, she had to go, e're the close of that pleasant day.
While eating dinner, this dear little child
was choked on a piece of beef.
Doctors came, tried their skill awhile,
but none could give relief."
I get the image of Libby spread out on the dining room table
with a stream of doctors coming in, one after the other
and poking around in her throat, and shaking their heads, maybe.
"She was ten years of age, I am told,
and in school stood very high.
Her little form now the earth enfolds, in her embrace
it must ever lie."
Figure that metaphor out.
"Her friends and schoolmates will not
forget Little Libby that is no more;
she is waiting on the shining step,
to welcome home friends once more."
[CHUCKLING] I can never read that poem without tears.