We've received a call from a lovely man who lives in the village. His invalid wife, to whom he was dedicated, died during the Christmas festivities. There will be a private burial and friends are invited to meet at the church beforehand, for a short, simple ceremony. I found a poem that I had copied some time ago for mr soop. I am sharing it with you. It sums up my love for my man, and I sense that the friend will have felt similar feelings for his late wife.
The Confirmation Edwin Muir
Yes, yours, my love, is the right human face.
I in my mind had waited for this long.
Seeing the false and searching for the true,
Then found you as a traveller finds a place
Of welcome suddenly amid the wrong
Valleys of rocks and twisting roads. But you,
What shall I call you? A fountain in a waste,
A well of water in a country dry,
Or anything that's honest and good, an eye
That makes the whole world bright. Your open heart,
Simple with giving, gives the primal deed,
The first good world, the blossom, the blowing seed,
The hearth, the steadfast land, the wandering sea,
Not beautiful or rare in every part,
But like yourself, as they were meant to be.