Why do the fingers
Of the little once beautiful lady
(sitting sewing at an open window
this fine morning) fly instead of dancing?
Are they possibly afraid
That life is running away
From them (I wonder) or
Isn’t she aware that
Life (who never grows old) is
Always beautiful and that
Nobody beautiful ever hurries? – e.e. cummings
Bekah, there really are no words except for to say that you are beautiful, and we are all behind you.