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^{Frankie at Arlington}

^{In Loving Memory...}

                                                            No longer mourn for me when I am dead
                                                            Than you shall hear the surly sudden bell
                                                            Give warning to the world that I am fled
                                                            From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:
                                                            Nay, if you read this line, remember not
                                                            The hand that write it; for I love you so
                                                            That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot
                                                            If thinking on me then should make you woe.
                                                            O, if, I say, you look upon this verse
                                                            When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
                                                            Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,
                                                            But let your love even with my life decay,
                                                            Lest the wise world should look into your moan
                                                            And mock you with me after I am gone.

- William Shakespeare

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                            All photographs at Arlington taken
                                                            by Sue R. I would like to take this
                                                             moment to express my heartfelt
                                                            appreciation to her for the pics, and
                                                            for being a friend, Sue, thanks.

                It is healthy and honorable
                                                                                        to weep at the loss of someone we love.
                                                                                        Healthy because
                                                                                        such passion must be released.
                                                                                        Honorable because it is respectful
                                                                                        to admit the importance of people
                                                                                        who have loved and supported us...
                                                                                        people whose footprints
                                                                                        cannot ever be matched.
                                                                                                                    - Maya Angelou

            If I am to wear this mourning cloak,
            let it be made of the fabric of love,
            woven by the fine thread of memory.

Rest assured that in his dying, in his
flight through darkness toward a new
light, he held you in his arms and
carried your closeness with him. And
when he arrived at God, your image
was imprinted on his joy-filled soul.

                                                What thou lovest well remains,
                                                                      the rest is dross
                                             What thou lov'st well shall not be reft from thee
                                               What thou lov'st well is thy true heritage
                                                  Whose world, or mine or theirs
                                                                    or is it of none?
                                              First came the seen, then thus the palpable
                                                  Elysium, though it were in the halls of hell,
                                               What thou lovest well is thy true heritage
                                             What thou lov'st well shall not be reft from thee

- Ezra Pound

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Moments in Time...(People, Places, Events)

Shirts in the closet,
shoes in the hall
Mama's in the kitchen,
baby and all
Everything is everything
Everything is everything
But you're missing
Coffee cups on the counter,
Jackets on the chair
Papers on the doorstep,
but you're not there
Everything is everything
Everything is everything
But you're missing
Pictures on the nightstand,
TV's on in the den
Your house is waiting,
your house is waiting
For you to walk in,
for you to walk in
But you're missing,
you're missing
You're missing,
when I shut out the lights
You're missing,
when I close my eyes
You're missing,
when I see the sun rise
You're missing
Children are asking if it's alright
Will you be in our arms tonight?
Morning is morning,
the evening falls I got
Too much room in my bed,
too many phone calls
How's everything, everything?
Everything, everything
You're missing,
you're missing
God's drifting in heaven,
devil's in the mailbox
I got dust on my shoes,
nothing but teardrops

- Bruce Springsteen