The sun continues to rise
And steal across the skies.
Not recognizing my pain and cries,
It tips its hat and slides its girth
Into myriads of color to rise again in Perth
In celebration of a new birth.
Seventy-five years you watched it stroll,
Each new day collecting its toll.
When fully paid, you were allowed to fold
Away your earthly body and rust.
A bit more exhausted and weak you just
Tipped your hat and slipped away from us.
Your body was carefully placed near an old elm,
But you had risen in an unknown realm
And fully submit our lives to Him
In a place that has seemed so dim.
Will you meet me there, Little Nim?
Frances Garrett Baumgardner