MUSIC, WHEN SOFT VOICES DIE
Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory.
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the beloved’s bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
Percy Bysshe Shelley.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wesley you are now free of pain, free to do your chicken sounds, we miss you and we love you still and we will honor your memory, always.
'vie, JD, Wendy and family and all White Cottage Graduates