‘Tis the last rose of Summer left blooming alone,
All her lovely companions are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred, no rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes, or give sigh for sigh.
Thomas Moore.

Photo of cats, travel, flowers
‘Tis the last rose of Summer left blooming alone,
All her lovely companions are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred, no rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes, or give sigh for sigh.
Thomas Moore.

Sometimes I sits and thinks, and sometimes I just sits.
Punch: 1906

Deep Peace of the shining stars to you.
Deep Peace of the quiet earth to you.
Deep Peace of the son of peace to you,
this Christmas and all through the year.
Irish Christmas Blessing.

Do not stand at my grave and weep
For I’m not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow;
I am diamond glints of snow;
I am sunlight on ripened grain;
I am the gentle autumn’s rain;
When you awaken in the morning’s hush;
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds encircled flight.
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die.
