A life is measured
not by its number of years
but the number of souls that it has touched,
and just as a tree
may lose the verdure of its leaves
the soothing influence of its magnificent frame remains.
So folacious memories
will flower fondly even in Winter
with a deep flocculation of variegated love,
and those deep roots
that made such a strong impression, will long
outlast the Southern virason with the opening of each neanic knosp.