A sad death, a foolish death,
And what was it for?
A young girl breathed her last breath,
And fled this mortal shore.
A sweet life, a kind life;
How can it be gone?
Grief cuts like a knife;
She had only begun.
Sixteen, only sixteen!
A flower poised to bloom—
Never passed beyond the between,
Never left that room.
Curly hair, bright brown eye,
The soul of sympathy,
Sometimes quiet, sometimes shy,
Always living joyfully.
Apologetic when she needn’t be,
She’s not apologizing now.
She is dancing full and free
Beyond Mount Olive’s brow.
Sister, friend, young woman,
We’ll miss you for a while.
But we’ll meet you in the sun
Of Jesus’ endless smile.
Good-bye, Stacy.