“All the heavy days are over./Leave the body’s colored pride/Underneath the grass and clover;With the feet laid side by side.
Bathed in flaming founts of duty/She’ll not ask a haughty dress./Carry all that mournful beauty/To the scented oaken press.
Did the kiss of Mother Mary/ Put that music in her face?/Still she goes with footstep wary/ Full of Earth’s old timid grace.
‘Mongst the feet of angels seven/ What a dancer glimmering! / All the heavens bow down to Heaven/Flame to flame and wing to wing! “
—W. B.Yeats
ST UnWoked & UnVaxxed! 
Lovely!
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I have discovered that poetry does have a use in bereavement. When you wonder how you can be not crying, a line of verse can undam the tears again. “Full of earth’s old timid grace” did it for me.
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Bring it!
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