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This page is dedicated to my mother, who passed over to the Summerland on July 28, 1985.
Gloria was a very talented artist. I have a few of her oils hanging in my home today. As you can see she also wrote very well. She herself was eclectic in her beliefs, and taught us to search and grow within our own spiritual paths. She also had a great sense of humor, our house contained a crucifix, a Buddha, the ten commandments and we all wore pentacles. She said we are going to be completely covered here.
This poem was written by her many years before she had to leave us. I believe it was written when my father (even though divorced at the time) died suddenly in the year of 1971.
This poem was very hard for me to retype as I read the words through tears. I remember well the day she asked me to retype it, she wanted to give it to the doctor's and nurses who helped her so much with her battle with cancer; and to one very special Hospice nurse.
This was her epitaph.
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MARKING TIME
Time is a very relative thing,
To each individual, something to cling.
One man in a hundred years lives not at all,
And another in time brief, a true life befalls.
It is not our place to mark another's time.
For who are we to say, what is precious to his mind
To two lovers, a moment is all eternity,
Also a baby's needs to a woman's maternity.
Moments become…Hours…Days…Years,
And one grasps in an instant of fear
What others cannot envision in years,
Yet some live by a calendar in arrears.
When we say to bad, he was so terribly young;
Perhaps all the song he had to sing was sung.
Some rush hither to and fro,
Accomplishing nothing as they go.
We think, but we cannot in his soul see
What so meaningful to him can be
I know I have moment that in my soul last forever,
And then years are but a fraction, in memory so clever.
Yes! Time is a very personal count,
Yours and mine, the same hour,
A different amount.
Gloria A. Shapan
1971
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