A poem by Marilyn Darley Williams

OBITUARY: WHAT IT DID NOT SAY

Before the word aerobic
was ever heard, she brisk-walked
three miles up a hill by the orchard
at sunrise and marveled.
She could identify thirty varieties
of apples, blindfolded,
by their smell.
She could hula-hoop but not limbo.
Though she had skin
like burnished leather
she was called beautiful.
She was not survived
by children of her flesh,
but by hundreds
of the heart.
Her gift to students
was confidence.

When disease took her eyesight
a day at a time,
she still recognized the essence of oak
and willow, a child by a cough
or silence.
She saw the light
at the end of each tunnel.
She knew the source
of the light.


Her book is for sale

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