So sorry to hear that Anglika has passed away, I appreciated her very much.
Away with us she's going,
She'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into her breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For she comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than she can understand.
W. B. Yeats (amended)
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