Aunty Del lived here 1917-2013.Edit 2.1crow, true

[Keith]

I wont say I like the edit, I will say I'm glad you added to this, the reader is treated to some delightful images that depict elements of all our aunties and this invites us to feel for her passing just that little bit more. The opening stanza put us in the room eyeing our would be spoils but what we see is a catalog of her life. I have added some comments below but I don't feel it needs much improving. Delightful and a respectful celebration of all aunties of this standing. The alteration throughout smooths the whole piece and stitches all the seams together. Best Keith

But now she’s gone and in her house, shivering with cold and stress,
we gather to assay her life; though loathe to stamp our claims out loud. I can stand in this room and feel the same feelings great opening.
Silently we move around, and smile on every treasure touched;
We carefully handle, bag and box, each broken doll, each crumpled dress,
her photographs, the Oxtail soup, biscuits bought for friends to tea. with tea ? not sure, something seem slightly off
Pink table napkins, new and folded, indicate a woman proud;
pride was virtue in this world of chintzy cherubs and china cups. Is there an a missing before before virtue ? The assonance of chintzy cherubs and china cups I very much enjoyed.
Strange that wealth summed in a life could hide such human poverty.

We look to where she hung her plates; circles of her time in grime. sorry I I found time in grime a little too blunt other may love it though ? JMO
The empty spaces on the wall darkened as her days grew few.
Gaps between each precious place got longer as her passion left.
The last I hooked on to its pin, a week ago, it left no sign.
Another birthday gift had joined the sad procession. We could tell
that no more Blacksmith, Basket Weaver, Flower Girl or Lambing Ewe,
Cheese Purveyor, Fresh Fish Seller, Cobbler, Cooper, Weave and Weft
would ever mean so much again… as once they did to Aunty Del. Nothing to add, wonderful writing


OriginaL
I look to where she hung her plates; circles of her time in grime.
The empty spaces on the wall darkened as her days grew few.
Gaps between each precious place got longer as her passion left.
The last I hooked on to its pin, a week ago, it left no sign.
Another birthday gift had joined the sad procession. We could tell
that no more Blacksmith, Basket Weaver, Flower Girl or Lambing Ewe,
Cheese Purveyor, Fresh Fish Seller, Cobbler, Hooper, Weave and Weft
would ever mean so much again… as once they did to Aunty Del.

Adelice Cansfield
1917-2013