Lucy

Mindful of you the sodden earth in spring,

And all the flowers that in the springtime grow;

And dusty roads, and thistles, and the slow

Rising of the full moon; all throats that sing

The summer through, and each departing wing,

And all the nests that the barred branches show; 

And all the winds that in any weather blow,

And all the storms that the four seasons bring. 

You go no more on your exultant feet

Up paths that only mist and morning knew;

Or watch the wind, or listen to the beat

Of a bird's wings too high in air to view,—

But you were something more than young and sweet

And fair,—and the long year remembers you. 

                                           Edna St. Vincent Millay

Always underfoot, climbing fence rails or disappearing into tall grasses, you liked to spend your days sunning and tucked into the smallest cranny. We remember the day you were born; little mews sounding from underneath the jam cupboard. It was love at first sight, Lucy. You grew to be a huntress, full of mischief and grace. You grew to be clever and silly and, on your own terms, affectionate. You knew yourself and every acre of the farm. You even knew when you were about to say goodbye, and let us hold you for as long as we could. 

All of our love.