It was just last Christmas we were sending a celebration basket to your home Janet; we are so sorry for your loss. She was a lovely woman. Grace the gentlest mother is, Impatient of no child, The feeblest of the waywardest. Her admonition mild How fair her conversation A summer afternoon, Her household her assembly; And when the sun go down, When all the children sleep, She turns as long away As will suffice to light her lamps, Then bending from the sky With infinite affection An infinite care, Her golden finger on her lip, Wills silence everywhere. -from Emily Dickinson