She looked down from above, saw the familiar dinner table set with love,
Four little bowls each with a frugal meal,
Enough to survive, nothing for greed.
The sunlight from the window streamed in, beckoning the diners to eat therein.
But the four were still in mourning,
Hoping for her return to make it five again.
She had passed never to return, her death, the doctors couldn’t adjourn.
She had cried when she was sick desperately wanting to survive,
But now she was happy the four bowls looked fuller than five.