“She is not dead but sleepeth.”
Dear Paulina Way, It was such a sad and dreary day; July 6th, 1886.
The sun shone brightly, like any summer’s day, except in the heart of poor Enoch Way. Like all real men of your time do, he cinched it up and struggled through, but only five hundred and eighty four more days than you.
They laid you down in that pretty Sunday-go-to-meetin’ shawl, but secretly,
Enoch kept the one you wore all your days, the same one you brought to your wedding bed. Underneath his pillow it hid, for without the smell of you wafting about his head, you might as well just counted him for dead.
“Gone but not forgotten…to rest with the angels of heaven”
Dear Enoch Way, those February days are always hardest to bear,
especially without your sweetest Paulina there.
February 10, 1888, 75 years, 8 months, 14 days, was all you continued to dare,
especially without your sweetest Paulina there.
123 years, 1 month, 16 days, your misery has been stayed.
February is still hardest to bear, but now you have Sweet Paulina there.
123 Years, 1 month, and 17 days you watch another sunset fade.
All you have is all you need, you and Sweet Paulina sleep beneath the trees.
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