Oh so precious.............

This is how I feel when I read my mother's recipes.

                         Death Sets A Thing Significant -

Poem by Emily Dickinson

 

Death sets a thing significant
The eye had hurried by,
Except a perished creature
Entreat us tenderly.

To ponder little workmanships
In crayon or in wool,
With 'This was last her fingers did,'
Industrious until.....

The thimble weighed too heavy,
The stitches stopped themselves,
And then 't was put among the dust
Upon the closet shelves.

A book I have, a friend gave,
Whose pencil, here and there,
Had notched the place that pleased him,--
At rest his fingers are.

Now, when I read, I read not,
For interrupting tears
Obliterate the etchings
                         Too costly for repairs.