We Shared a bedroom – part of my grief journey

We shared a bedroom
Just him and me
A world in which we talked and played
And fought and plotted.

Down by the bridge over the railway
Sliding its slopes on rusty corrugated iron
Probably the odd asbestos sheet
Tadpoled in pools where poorly drained.

The old coal tower a dangerous magnet
Never talked of to parents
Climbing the ladders
Exploring abandoned, silted bins

So many adventures and memories
Into my adult years and now
Saying goodbye to him a slow process
In my heart he will always have residence.

Brian Matthews, 12/8/21

Part of a longer sequence of my Vietnam tales from 5 years ago

Friday, 12th of August, 2016
There are many cave tours that can be undertaken from Dong Hoi, where we have been staying for the last few days. We reviewed these and decided on the tamest at Phong Nha. Many of the tours that are available require walking and climbing for many hours and, talking to the younger tourists we met, we decided to give these a miss. We were told that the ones at Phong Nha were were very impressive and involved a boat trip through caves, followed by a stroll at your own pace back to the entrance to the caves to then be picked up by the boat you had hired to make the initial trip.

While the boats take 14 passengers and the usual drill is to congregate at the ticket office until there are enough people, we decided to take one on our own. We have had enough of being packed into small spaces with other tourists and at 360,000 dhong (about $28 Australian) it seemed a small price to pay to choose where we sat and to go at our own pace. This provoked much hilarity from locals who exclaimed and pointed as our boat passed returning boats packed with other tourists. Many of the tourists, interestingly, were Vietnamese and it clearly made sense for them to minimise the cost, but there was the usual mix of young European backpackers, and people from a mix of other countries. Didn’t identify any other Aussies there today, which is not unusual; I can count on one hand the Aussies we have met on our travels here.

The boat trip to the caves took about 20 minutes and there was impressive, mountainous scenery surrounding the river/lake that took us there. Vietnam seems universally lush and beautiful without the obvious poverty of many other Asian countries. I think it was lucky that the Americans did not win the war as I am sure rampant capitalism would have created the underclass so prevalent in other free and democratic countries in this part of the world; I know, I’m an old bolshie but the evidence here seems to fit so well with my bias.

Once we came to the cave entrance we moved into something out of a dream. Impressive designs within the cave created patterns and shapes that were exciting and wondrous to behold. Lighting throughout the whole cave system highlights the stalactites and stalagmites that have formed over the eons as well as interesting quartz and other features that attract the attention of viewers of this rich visual stimulant. Of course, Babara and I were clicking away with our cameras unfettered by other viewers as we had planned. On reviewing my hundreds of photos I found almost none of the ones taken on the boat were useful – back to the manual (which I accidentally incinerated on our last trip to Bali, but that’s another story!). Barbara hasn’t reviewed hers yet and I am hopeful that she had more luck.

When you reach the point where it is too low for boats to continue you are taken back to a beach area about half way along the watery tunnel. To my surprise, this is where the fun really began. For almost an hour we wandered through easily navigable caverns that contained even richer visual excitement than what we had previously experienced. To say the cave system is huge is an understatement. There was no sense of confinement with a series of caverns, many of which were larger than a movie theatre. The roof towered above us and artful lighting highlighted the hues of the crystals in the rocks while huge, often squat, stalagmites towered above us. In places the walls looked as if they contained huge jelly fish with tendrils cascading down. In other places there were series of crystalline features that, with the lighting, created a range of colourful exhibitions of nature’s power to impress.

While the experience was originally a very pleasant one with cool air acting as a balm to the heat and humidity of the day, as we wandered it became apparent that this would not offset the sweat being generated and we became duly very damp. By the time we had reached the entrance of the cave where we were to be picked up, I was as wet as a hippopotamus in addition to being a comparable size. My camera battery gave up the ghost and Barbara’s followed suit a few minutes later. I have found, though, that ejecting the battery and reinserting it gives a little more life and so I continued to take a few shots until the end of our trip. A couple of ice creams at the stalls stationed at the pickup point were a welcome treat!

Back in the boat for our cruise to the start of the adventure, Barbara noticed that her bag had been rifled. There was a very young boy who was ‘helping’ his mother who had a look through her things and, fortunately, only helped himself to some delicious peanutty treats that we had bought from a stall prior to out trip. We had given him some on the way to the caves and, I guess, the temptation was just too much for him. A lesson for us as Babara’s little bag contained her iPhone and iPad mini, though I had the wallet, and the consequences could have been much worse. I don’t think his Mum knew what he had done, though, as he had been sitting on the boat while she waited for us closer to the exit point from the caves. We were a bit miffed at first, but laughed it off and shared the rest of the treats with him on the way home and gave his Mum a good tip (1/3 of the cost of the trip) as she had to paddle us around the caves by hand (the first part of the trip was powered – husband sat at the back doing the important work – but clearly the petrol fumes would have been dangerous in the caves as well as damaging the formations created by nature).

Once we returned to the starting point we decided to have a beer and rehydrate and, of course, the lady selling us the beer pressed us into buying a few t-shirts, and a range of treats for later on. It seems to us that the sellers in Vietnam are not as intense as in other Asian countries. One lady at the next stall complained loudly that we had bought nothing for her and demonstrated how mean we were by displaying her baby boy with a bandage on his head and bemoaning his fate, but this was trivial compared to the badgering we have received in Thailand and, particularly, Bali. It is interesting, though, that many of the other travellers we have talked to have complained loudly about the harassment at markets and tourist places but we have not experienced this in the places that we have visited and stayed so far. People have loudly encouraged us to buy their goods and sometimes we have, as my mounting pile of t-shirts attests (I just love the ‘Good Morning Vietnam’ one but just haven’t found one with the Vietnam flag in my size yet!). Mind you, none of the other tourists who have complained to us have ever been to Bali.

The trip back to our hotel in a modern airconditioned car driven by a responsible and careful young man who spoke no English but played pleasant music softly on his radio, was as pleasant as the drive to the caves. We opted out of a minibus option as we have previously experienced how 22 seater minibuses are often equipped with fold down seats between each row of seats leading to a capacity of about 30 and little room to move. It did lead to some interesting (and intimate) involvement with other passengers but we have decided to avoid these experiences in future wherever possible. We passed through lush mountainous countryside in valleys that were full of trees, pawpaw plantations, banana trees, rice paddies, the occasional buffalo wandering on the road and roadside stalls selling produce that seemed targetted more at locals than the tourist trade. The roads we travelled on were high quality and the volume of traffic more akin to those in Australia than my expectation of an Asian country. I marvelled, as I had often before, about how similar the kilometre markers were to small grave stones, an observation I had initially found to be a little ominous.

So, back in our hotel for the heat of the afternoon and a stint at reviewing photos taken, munching on treats purchased on our trip, and some time spent writing about our experiences (this time on my Pages App on my iPad so that I could use my wireless keyboard – I’m sure I’ll get Repetitive Strain Injury in my right thumb if I keep trying to document our travels on my iPhone)

Our Vietnam adventure continues…..

Readings and quote from poetry reading on Happy FM 27th July 2021

(I didn’t get to all of these on the day

Road Train Dust. Written by Glen Parsons, 26th May 2021

The road is long ,

the road is tough,

the old bloody Utes body,

Looking pretty rough

twisting and turning

The Utes tray

With Old fence droppers lay in the back

Covered up by and old hessian sack

as it hit the corrugation,

I end up with rattling bones,

Singing Willies song

on that bloody road

The roadtrain in my mirror,

The road full of dust

As I pull over

to be covered in a trail of dust

Cattle crying out

It’s the market we go

From that roadtrain Dust

On that dusty road

Sibling Diversity

Four siblings considered

Same gender

Similar but oh so different.

Another four, as well

All the same gender

Similar but again so different.

The first group older women,

The second group men in their prime.

How does this inform us?

Genetic difference in both

Sisters and brothers share traits

Experience varies more.

No answers here, of course

Nature versus nurture never resolved

Questions always remain.

“Oh, I know the type”

Some people will say it

Many more think this.

But we never really know “the type”

Know our assumptions we do,

Conclusions reached without knowledge.

Commonalities are widespread

Similarities in our face,

Underneath all different.

Blithely many proceed

With their assumptions and bias

Not the individual considering.

No one of this is totally free

We all nurture prejudice in our core,

Awareness of this the biggest step.

Listening to others the path ahead,

How do they feel about what they say?

What have I learned about them?

Conclusions reached in haste

Always have flaws

Rarely hit the mark.

But even time does not suffice

Curiosity needs to remain

What more can I understand?

Brian Matthews, 11/7/21


From little ones we get so much

Their squeals, their joy,

That dreadful cough.

Noses seem to drip

A constant stream

Delaying yet another trip.

But do we isolate and avoid

These tiny germ breeders

No, the smiles and laughs are deployed.

Some can spurn this temptation

As with slobbering dogs

‘Nothing will invade my nation!’

But I truly fail to see

How such behaviour

Could apply to me.

The magnetic pull of a little one

Leads my best plans

To come undone.

Their joy in living in the now

Destroys my resolve

Changing this I can’t see how.

Reminding self to protect

A hopeless gesture

Which I invariably reject.

In unusual times we do face

Distance and disinfection

Our own health embrace.

Where we draw a line to choose

The contact we will have

And that we’ll lose.

Brian Matthews, 7/7/21

Cold Weather

The cold air crisp

The heater going

Dealing with the colder weather

Not much resilience I’m showing.

In my youth coldness seemed

A brief interruption

No real impediment

To that which I dreamed.

Now it sinks into my frame

Sidelining my motivation

Delaying that I wish to do

Seeking only the flame.

Vary we all do

In ways that we react

To hot and cold both

How we see the weather through.

But age adds another layer

As we move through life

Doing this and that

Less likely the robust swagger.

Brian Matthews 7/7/21


The Year Book’s out,

I’m with a friend.

This person, and that,

This memory and not that.

How it tugs at you,

The memories you have,

Or not at all,

It seems so strange.

Some things will stick,

A face and name,

And others it seems,

You’ve not met at all.

Thus it is with memory,

As with much of life,

We’ve not truly experienced it,

Without sharing something.

But memories which are shared,

Are so often somewhat different.

Objective reality seems a fantasy,

As does objective truth.

Brian Matthews 11/3/19

To My Once Wife

My calendar reminds me

That many years ago

My Once Wife drew first breath

And first faced the day.

Almost 50 years hence

We were wed

13 at the small event

Surely an omen

Of things yet to come

But four boys came forth

And almost 25 long years

Mixed with blessings and tears

Followed by times harsh

That distanced us both

But after some years

Reconnection did grow

Through issues shared

Family crises for one

Family events another

Until Now Wife can say

On a recent Christmas day

Let‘s have a photo

Of Brian and his two Wives

And all laugh

And photo shared.

It doesn’t always this way go

And some find it strange

But I am very happy

I can now share with her

On each special day

Brian Matthews, 1/8/2020

For Mum

My tears will be spent

But not the hole in the heart rent

Remember you we will

When the sun rises and birds sing

Your spirit lives on

Though your body failed

In every smile you shared

You will live on…

One of a kind

Such a presence

So full of life

That smile and laugh

Never to be seen again.

Memories flood my mind

Of childhood wrangles

And family occasions

Weddings of his daughters.

Living so far away

But always present for me

The long, long phone calls

And photos of his darlings.

Such tall tales he told

And most were true

The things he said

And what he did.

Such a quick ending

Gone in a flash

Like his father before him

A male family tradition.

He will be missed

He will be mourned

But he left his mark

Shared his love…

Brian Matthews, 18/7/21

The Narrow Path

We all walk the narrow wire,

Do we live or do we die?

No answers appear

Until one fateful day.

It is the natural course

That we all know

But when the curtain closes

Regrets litter the ground.

What could have been said?

What could have been done?

Questions left unasked

Never to be answered.

Rejoice we must

In what the person gave

The love they shared

Their acts of kindness.

Put aside perceived faults

Things that might have been neglected

We all have one life

A journey not a race to achieve.

Listen to the tales of others

Of words and deeds unheard

Learn about the life

Parts to you formerly unknown.

Brian Matthews, 27/7/21

A quote

“The more you live, the more you learn, and trust me, you never know who you might become.”

— Cause to Run (An Avery Black Mystery—Book 2) by Blake Pierce


Difficult Time 2

So, below is my draft eulogy for my younger brother Ian

Ian’s Eulogy

Ian Barry Matthews

28/10/1953 – 17/7/2021

I am devastated that me and South Australian Members of the family are unlikely to be able to attend my beloved brother’s celebration of life but wanted to say a few things to mark his passing.

Ian was present in my life from my earliest memories until just a few hours before his death. He was the little brother I played and fought with, the one with the imaginative games, the little pest who wanted to play with me and my mates. We built shangeyes (sling shots) and cross bows together, playing for hours, roaming our neighbourhood as kids did in those days. Sliding down slopes on bits of corrugated iron, tadpoling, playing marbles and NEVER snitching on each other. Ian had a gold filling in a front tooth for many years from a slingshot injury I inadvertently gave him (he told Mum and Dad he ran into a wall) and I still sport a scar between my thumb and forefinger from a carving knife incurred in a scuffle over washing and drying the dishes (I told Mum and Dad I was washing up and accidentally sliced it).

Ian always knew how to rile me, was a natural sportsman and even though almost 2 years younger so often beat me at games like table tennis which I thought I was pretty good at. He was a small kid and one of his favourite tricks was ducking below the table tennis table when his turn to serve, which annoyed me, then he would suddenly pop up and deliver a killing serve. There was much chasing around the table after these incidents and blows were frequently thrown. I clearly remember Mum running down the passage toward me broom raised while I hit a laughing Ian with me saying ‘I’m sorry Mum, I can’t help it’

I did realise, very young, that while Ian liked to rile me, it was not a good idea to rile him. He was so unflappable most of the time that it was too easy to forget this. A tomahawk narrowly missing my head, at one time, reminded me of this. You really didn’t want to get Ian mad. When we were at primary school and were about 10 and 8, the bully of our working class school, a huge (to us kids) Greek boy who nobody challenged, one day decided to pick on Ian, one of the smallest kids. Ian lost it and started swinging his fists at him. The much bigger boy just laughed holding Ian at a distance while his arms flailed. But the big boy dropped his guard and Ian knocked him out with one punch. Ian was never threatened after that and neither was I because if the little brother could do that what could the older brother do? Interestingly, Ian remembered neither of these incidents as an adult and I had the strong impression that he thought I was ‘making shit up’.

Ian was a great hockey player and he passed the love of this sport on to his family. I asked him how he got into it and he told me that when he started high school he went to try out for the baseball team (my sport) but got the times wrong or it was cancelled and so he tried out for hockey and never looked back. I heard many tales about his exploits from mutual friends and Ian. One day in a high school match, Ian (Matty as his friends called him) was disaffected with the umpiring and stood in the middle of the field, dropped his own shorts, and shouted at the umpire ‘Pull your pants up and give your mouth a go!’ He was sent off but he was unrepentant- he had a strong sense of fairness. When a little older and playing district hockey, top level, his coach benched him because he’d missed a practice. This was a summer competition which had fewer rule constraints than the then winter main competition and Ian marched over to the opposition where he was welcomed. He scored the winning goals. I don’t know if his coach benched him again.

Ian, as most of you will know, was very intelligent but the constraints of formal education were not for him and he was fortunate that one of the senior teachers at Woodville High School, Mr Phillips, was also the Hockey coach and this saved his bacon on many occasions. It didn’t protect me, though. In 4th year high school (year 11) I was sitting in class and our Chemistry teacher came in for his lesson. He settled in, looked up, saw me and said ‘Matthews – out, I’ve had enough of Matthewses for the day’. He was Ian’s class teacher and had a double lesson with Ian just before mine. I didn’t really mind as I just continued reading a novel as I would have done during the lesson anyway – my noncompliance just wasn’t as visible as Ian’s.

We went our separate ways after our childhood, though Ian was always in my life. He ended up working at Moomba for SANTOS for several decades and more and that was where he acquired the nickname ‘Jock’. He worked in the laboratory at Moomba when he first started, somebody one day called him ‘the lab jock’ and it stuck. As Ian and I look similar, though he retained all of his hair, I’ve had the experience over many years of men approaching me with ‘Gidday Jock’ and then regaling me with difficult to believe tales about what he said or did. Though he worked there for years he was never happy with their poor health and safety practices protected by a government that valued the revenue too much and fellow workers who accepted increases in money as trade offs for poor practices. This came to a head when Ian’s. ‘other half’ the man who slept in the same room and did the same job when Ian was on leave, died in an industrial accident. Ian ramped up his words, made a pain of himself, SANTOS claimed he had mental difficulties, though their own psychiatrist thought not. Eventually Ian got the largest payoff in known history and retired from there.

Ian met Bernie and his girls on a bus trip to Qld to visit me and family when I worked in Maryborough for three years. He didn’t mention this, at first, but his visits became more frequent and eventually all was revealed. I still remember Yasmin and Aleasha clambering into bed with me and my first wife Margie on and early visit. Not sure which one it was but somebody had bloody cold feet and I remember thinking ‘These kids are really friendly’ and I started to understand how Ian bonded so deeply with them.

There was that period that followed when Ian and Bernie and the girls bought and lived in a house at Ottoway near where our parents lived. Ian had been employed out of Adelaide and that’s where he was flown back to so this worked and the girls had the opportunity to develop a relationship with Nana and Papa, both now passed.

Once Bernie and Ian split up, Ian moved to Qld to be near his girls, act as a support person to both of Bernie’s subsequent husbands (I’ll keep these tales to myself) and to enjoy the warmer weather. He once told me he showered in Qld to get clean but in SA it was to get warm. I suppose such a long time at Moomba had increased his affinity for warmer climes.

Ian had a funny attitude to money. Another tale he didn’t remember from his childhood was one where he was in the practice of borrowing money from me. We had little money then and I carefully saved my meagre pocket money for things I wanted. Ian spent his as soon as he got it and was always taking loans from me. One day he said to me when we calculated what he owed me ‘Brian, you know I’m never going to be able to pay you back, don’t you?’ I replied ‘Yes’ and he said ‘how about we call it quits’, I agreed and he immediately said ‘ That’s great, can you lend me two bob’. I laughed and laughed and ‘loaned’ him the two shillings. He paid me back in spades several times as an adult and I know he was incredibly generous with his money to others, on one occasion when he lived in Currimundi paying for expensive surgery for an elderly neighbour’s dog because he knew the neighbour couldn’t afford this. I’m sure there are many tales like this out there and he didn’t brag about his largesse, I had to drag those details out of him.

I could go on and on and then you’d truly be reminded of my little brother. His daughters and his family in Adelaide loved him dearly and all are devastated by his loss. Yasmin, Aleasha and family, you’ve lost my brother but you still have me and the rest of my family and we are truly grateful for the joy you all gave to him

A funny last tale for you all

When Ian was at Moomba and he’d come home to Currimundi, he would enjoy the beach and nearby lagoons and would often sit for hours contemplating his lovely environment. He started to notice that he got some strange looks from people and realised that a guy in his age group doing nothing was suspicious. So, he bought himself a fishing rod with weights, no hooks, and a bucket (Ian did not like fishing and the suffering of the captured creatures) but he would sit for hours, line dangling, taking in the world, with people occasionally commiserating with him over his lack of success

I laughed and laughed when he told me this tale

RIP beloved brother

This was a song he once mentioned to me that he wanted at his funeral


Difficult Times 1

It has been a hard week, first losing my mother to pneumonia and the gruelling last days of her life, then to be informed of my younger brother’s death from a heart attack. This post contains a draft eulogy for my Mum, and I’ll make another post for my brother.

My Mum’s funeral has been suspended indefinitely due to COVID lockdown in South Australia and I’m unlikely to make it to my brother’s funeral in Queensland as state borders have closed.

No pity party here. Many around the world have had it much worse but it is helpful for me to share these thoughts with others until I have the chance to do so with friends and family….

Mary Eileen Matthews

10/9/1927 – 12/7/2021

Loving wife of the late Bob Matthews, loving mother of Robert Margaret Brian and Ian and mother in law, grandparent, great grandparent, step grandparent and great grandparent.

4 children, 8 grandchildren, 15 great grandchildren

Married 8/3/46

Mum was one in a large family, common in her era. Her father had migrated from Malta before world war 1, her mother was a descendant of Prussian immigrants who came to South Australia in the 1850s. As the eldest girl in her family she took on many responsibilities at an early age and was, by all accounts, a de facto mother for her younger siblings. She had little schooling. She told tales of being rowed over the river Murray to school by an older brother in her very early years but not so many years later it was she who would drive her younger siblings to school in a horse and cart, then returning home to do chores and watch the cows so that they didn’t wander as the fences were poor.

Audio file of Mum in her final months

Her schooling was by correspondence and she admitted that when she received her course materials she would complete tasks by filling these in from the answers in the back. But while Mum had minimal formal education she learned many practical skills in childcare and domestic tasks both through her family commitments and the work she started at a very early age. Though a child of the Great Depression she said she never went hungry though, as an adult she would not eat rabbit. She talked about how it was one of her jobs to trap, gut and skin rabbits for the family and for many years this was their main protein.

Mum met Dad in Mannum. Their romance was short and he proposed to her one night when drunk. She told him she would if he came back and asked her again in the morning when he was sober. He did come back and they were soon wed. They lived in Adelaide for a time where my older brother Robert was born but then moved to Mum’s home town, Mannum, where me and my other siblings were born. Dad worked at Shearers, Mum reared children and they lived in a house not far from Papa Joe and Grandma Emma. They moved from Mannum to Adelaide around 1956, partly for work opportunities and schooling options but also, I later learned to escape perceived stigma over the tragic death of one of her sisters at the hands of an estranged boyfriend. Domestic violence is not a recent phenomenon.

In Adelaide Mum and Dad leased/bought a Deli in Alberton which Mum ran while Dad worked. After a few years they bought the ultimate family home in Rosewater where Dad set up a backyard engineering business. He would work night shift as a fitter and turner, have some sleep, and then work in his business. Mum was heavily involved in the business, managing accounts and working lathes. She also had other jobs when work was slow, reared her children, painted and maintained the house, and catered to Dads every need. He was a hard worker but Mum worked twice as hard. As her children grew Mum continued her work in the business and, when work was slow worked as a domestic at the Spastic Centre in Woodville.

Eventually, of course, we all grew up, Robert went into the army, Margaret worked in Insurance, I went to University very unsuccessfully at first and Ian worked in the paint industry. As we all moved out of home and on to creating our own families, Mum and Dad settled into a routine that allowed them more time to themselves, bought a caravan that they left onsite at the Mannum Caravan Park and they would spend a weekend there every fortnight visiting Grandma Emma when she was still with us, but mainly pottering, socialising and, for Dad, frequenting the closest pub. Mum was not a drinker beyond a very tame low alcohol option. Anyway, the fortnightly visits to Mannum continued and friendships begun in her place of birth remained important all of her life.

Once Dad passed away, Mum lived in the family home for a while but soon moved and eventually settled in her unit in Parkholme where she lived happily for two decades and a half before failing health and mobility led to her living at Villa St Hilarion for a number of years.

Mum played a lot of 10 pin bowls in her 40s and 50s, learned to drive in her early 60s after Dad had gone and joined various clubs and was often the driver for friends and family. She was very active into her 80s and only stopped driving after her first fractured femur when she became dependent on a cane and was worried she might fall getting out of the car.

Mum influenced many people in her life, was always willing to help others, and maintained a high level of independence until her last few years

I have two lots of props for my eulogy.

The first, ornamental hands, one with a finger missing, that remained in Mum’s possession for over 60 years. My late brother Ian and I saved our meagre pocket money for the better part of 6 months to buy these and give them to Mum for Mother’s Day when I was about 10 and Ian 8. Mum would never get rid of them, even though damaged. Gifts from family were important to Mum and she routinely kept things that were well past their use by date.

The second is a hand towel that will be familiar to many. Mum made clothes in her younger years, knitted and eventually settled on crotcheting the surrounds of hand towels she purchased so that they could be easily hung. These were regular and valued gifts to friends and family and it was only recently that she could no longer do this. Mum showed her love by doing for others and she did a lot for many over the years.

I need to thank my Sister Margy for her unfailing support to Mum for so many years. I also need to thank my first wife Margie for the company, support and kindness shown to Mum over those years. The staff of Villa St Hilarion also need acknowledgment for the kindness and support shown to Mum over a number of difficult years. And finally, to my wife Barbara who always ensured that Mum had some special treats and Mum’s last meal was sticky date pudding which Barbara insisted I take to Mum when she last went into hospital and Mum hoed into this with a grin. Thank you also to my cousins, family members , and old friends who visited Mum when she most needed company and I’m saddened that COVID limitations impacted so heavily in her final year and a half

Mum we will all miss you but know that your legacy lives on through family and friends who are all better for having known you

My tears will be spent

But not the hole in the heart rent

Remember you we will

When the sun rises and birds sing

Your spirit lives on

Though your body failed

In every smile you shared

You will live on…