Mom its been over a year now since God and His Angels called you away. Oh how the Angels rejoiced as you walked Through those Pearly Gates that day !
Mom when they said you were going to die I refused to believe it could be true. How could I allow myself to even Imagine saying goodbye to you.
Mom you were an Angel here on earth I learned so very much from you. You were so gentle and so kind your Smile would always see me through.
You taught me how to love unconditionally And how to be my very best in all I do. You gave your all to God and your family Never once stopping to think about you.
You were more than a mother you were my Best friend and a great listener too. Oh how I miss our special talks, and All the fun things we used to do.
Mom I can never say goodbye to you, Because I could never bear the pain. Instead I say I love you Mom Until we meet again.
A Tribute To My Mom Ina Marie Hanks Crowder
By: Brinda Carter
The little white hearse
- by Ella Wheeler Wilcox59
Somebody’s baby was buried to-day— The empty white hearse from the grave rumbled back, And the morning somehow seemed less smiling and gay As I paused on the walk while it crossed on its way, And a shadow seemed drawn o’er the sun’s golden track.
Somebody’s baby was laid out to rest, White as a snowdrop, and fair to behold, And the soft little hands were crossed over the breast, And those hands and the lips and the eyelids were pressed With kisses as hot as the eyelids were cold.
Somebody saw it go out of her sight, Under the coffin lid—out through the door; Somebody finds only darkness and blight All through the glory of summer-sun light; Somebody’s baby will waken no more.
Somebody’s sorrow is making me weep: I know not her name, but I echo her cry, For the dearly bought baby she longed so to keep, The baby that rode to its long-lasting sleep In the little white hearse that went rumbling by.
I know not her name, but her sorrow I know; While I paused on the crossing I lived it once more, And back to my heart surged that river of woe That but in the breast of a mother can flow; For the little white hearse has been, too, at my door.
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