Eve Hall 1937 – 2007
Eve Hall, beloved wife of Tony, died peacefully at home on 23rd October. Loved and mourned by her sons Phil, Andy and Chris, her grandchildren Natalie, Lucy, John, Myles, Betty, Carmen, Jess, Alice, Eve and Bobby, and her daughters-in-law Tere, Kate and Anne. She will also be deeply missed by all her family and friends.
The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains
of my gab and my loitering.
I too am not a bit tamed I am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
The last scud of day holds back for me,
it flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the
shadowed wilds,
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.
I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fiber your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.
From Song of Myself, in Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman
Eve Hall, beloved wife of Tony, died peacefully at home on 23rd October. Loved and mourned by her sons Phil, Andy and Chris, her grandchildren Natalie, Lucy, John, Myles, Betty, Carmen, Jess, Alice, Eve and Bobby, and her daughters-in-law Tere, Kate and Anne. She will also be deeply missed by all her family and friends.
The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains
of my gab and my loitering.
I too am not a bit tamed I am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
The last scud of day holds back for me,
it flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the
shadowed wilds,
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.
I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fiber your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.
From Song of Myself, in Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman
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