When the crows lament – a poem

They took you away on a horse cart,
when the crows lamented.
You had your head full of memories,
but became demented.
Your great-grand children didn’t get to see you,
that made you feel kind of blue.
The name would die out,
with the father and son
the weeping begun.
For your eighty-four years old,
you were still a lady to be admired.
Never had their been anybody who was sold
with the Christian values as you.
After you retired,
you kept making clothes new,
as the day they were bought.
Never a penny did you caught,
you did it out of care for others.
Sometimes it bothers me,
how can I fit your shoes?
To a certain degree,
who’s able to?

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