As beautiful as a rose to see,
Was her life she lived so gracefully.
She made things prcious by her touch,
Her selfless love lives on in each of us.
The petals of her life fell one by one.
Each a gift of her heart,
'Til there were none.
Yet her radiance blooms once again
In fields of glory without end.

Author Unknown

Mom lived her life for love of friends and family,
Neither asking for nor wanting a return.
Her days became a sunlit homily,
With others' joy her joy and main concern.
When we were ill, she also became sick;
When we were cut, she, too, began to bleed.
Of our oil lamp she was the wick,
Drawing her bright flame from our need.
Some say that such behavior's out of date:
That self-fulfillment is the way to grace.
But Mom, without much choice, then chose her fate,
Finding greater truth in an embrace.
She lives on in the sparkle in our eyes:
Laughing, quiet, gentle, loving, wise.

Author Unknown