Carrie Richards

I cannot tell a story nor stretch a line From brim to brim of love and fame Without the mention of your name. You have a way to make narratives shine Sweet story teller, motherly, kind Every moral packed properly in place Every word a lesson spelled with grace Such a book is made for quiet evenings When we unpack memories; it will spill Into everything, the numberless tales The quiet winds the mustering gales The lonely shepherd sitting on a hill And all the heart's comings, and its goings. Do you ever grow weary holding the image Down like a lamb until it is shorn white Do ever rewrite pictures taken on a page So perfectly as the stars in their night You never favored me as I have favored you And rightly so, only to the great is due Tributes that make us sing, O empress Of the Soup, may you be forever blessed.