Should never tell a lady’s age,
E’en when it does excel,
Though oft’ ’tis said, by bard and sage,
Permission’s given, to tell.
The year in question, ’35, The nineteen hundreds, too, A newborn babe did breathe her first, She did arrive, on cue.
Delighted parents said ‘’At last, A gift, from God above, A beautiful, adoring child, One we can truly love’’.
Her childhood, teen years, disappeared, Her working years, fast, flew, By keeping busy, Henry's farm, Her husband, plus kids, few.
Three boys were blest to call her ''Mom". That's Joseph, Mark and Steve, A hostess extraordinary, They ate well, I believe.
Aft' Henry passed, she sold their farm, To Wellesley, moved she, Her faith, so strong in God's true love, Help her survive, did He.
Quite musical, she is, we're told,
Her fingers quite agile,
Along the keyboard, when she'd play
For ladies; with great style.
Most likely due to her strong faith,
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