There have been so many threads dedicated to Myrtle in her time of need; this is another one.
After everything you've been through, Myrtle, by some impulse then you have kept on fighting. You've stayed strong this entire time, and you just need a little longer to help yourself further.
We all feel as if we've met you before, although few of us have.
Whatever happens, throughout all of this, just keep strong. If you live, you are, Myrtle, a miracle; and you already are to have kept fighting this long. If you get too caught up in this mess and Faye loses you, you are a fighter and a hero to all myxi buns.
And Faye, your bunny really does seem to be wonderful so I do ask; don't let her go until she tells you she's ready.
'Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.'
Mary Frye
After everything you've been through, Myrtle, by some impulse then you have kept on fighting. You've stayed strong this entire time, and you just need a little longer to help yourself further.
We all feel as if we've met you before, although few of us have.
Whatever happens, throughout all of this, just keep strong. If you live, you are, Myrtle, a miracle; and you already are to have kept fighting this long. If you get too caught up in this mess and Faye loses you, you are a fighter and a hero to all myxi buns.
And Faye, your bunny really does seem to be wonderful so I do ask; don't let her go until she tells you she's ready.
'Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.'
Mary Frye
