To Edith Jacobson (1912-2003)

And she, who taught us wisdom, is now gone,
The strings are ripped, the harp, it sounds no more,
And she went to a far and unknown shore.
Extinguished is her light that for us shone.

All that she in her fruitful life has done
Lives on in many thoughts for ever more.
Remembrance carries on with all her lore,
And she is with us even though she’s gone.

Our lives, they seem to be a fleeting tale,
And for the harvest ready is the sheaf
And everything that in a lifetime grew.

We are but smoke before a mighty gale,
So driven are we like a wilted leaf,
And useless play is what we wish and do.