Family Poem by Gerard El Cue

Daughter. Our Daughter.
Not of blood. Tis true.
But none other.
Ever.
In history.
Was half as Loved as you.

Gone now. To a husband's side.
With sweet babe of her own.
Tending all of life's great tasks.
With never a thought of home.


Mother. Dear Mother.
Radiant family sun.
Carried away.
Far too soon.
Before all dreams had come.

So, gone too. In an instant left.
Cursed, hateful day.
Why such goodness must be kilt,
None as yet can say.


Father. Poor Father.