Tread not the earth where lies her youthful form, <br />Grow violets, sweet violets, above that cherished <br />mound; <br />Bid zephyrs softly whisper in accents sweet and low, <br />Not dead, not lost, but only gone a little while before. <br />So, I, though bowed in anguish, yield her spirit to its <br />God, <br />And meekly clasp the smiting hand, and kiss the <br />chast'ning rod; <br />May I, when time is over, greet thee on the other <br />shore, <br />To live and love for aye and aye, where partings are <br />no more.<br /><br />Mary Weston Fordham<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mrs-e-cohrs-brown/
