"She is not dead, she doth sleep.
'tis death is dead. Weep not for Ellen."
(Apologies to PB Shelley for the name change.)
"Sure, God help them, the poor crathurs." was her oft used expression.
Ellen was a simple woman, happiest when surrounded by those less fortunate, the 'different' ones, the afflicted, the children and the strays. And they all migrated to her doorstep. They sought her out, almost as if they knew she could and would save them. As if they were sent to her. As if they were guided by a loving, unseen hand, to her door. As if they knew that she would understand them. They could see her bright candle, always alight in her window, even on the darkest deepest nights. And they basked in her lightness and they loved her and told her so.
Her love for others was of the unspoken kind. The kind that comes from somewhere unearthly. The kind that endures through the vastness of time, space and beyond. A serene aura surrounded her always and when she spoke it was in the softest tones of measure.
"Come on in and sit down. I'll put on the kettle and we'll have a wee cup of tea."
As Shelly said, "Weep not for her, for she doth sleep, 'tis death is dead."