Her life was not as glorious as some, Devoted to her children and their children, What's left when dreams are scattered to the wind. She loved too well, and fought too hard She was, of all bright loveliness, a shard Struck off to bring our lives the gift of light. There are those whose lives are shaped by love; Whose pleasures, rich and full, are found in giving; Who make our wild hearts bloom and passions move Into measured fields made lush by living. Without her all the gold's gone from the day; She will be missed far more than we can say and remain in our hearts every day. R.I.P Jane xxxxxx