Your dear old Auntie Liz,
You’ll have no chance for her to show
Her sparkle and her fizz.
Fixed in a photograph
But you will never hear her warm
The days when she is glad;
Nor need to join with us in prayer
In days when she is sad.
At her own quaint behaviour;
His grace has taken her to where
She’s with her Lord and Saviour.
Her safe from fears and harms
Has gently nestled her to sleep
Within His tender arms.
To travel without scathe
Trust in the Lord she trusted in
And imitate her faith.
Written shortly after my sister-in-law's death - when Ingrid my granddaughter and her great-niece was tiny.