A sad but very beautiful poem…

Iris Woodbury

As some of you may know, a little of my heart died last Thursday with the passing of my Mother, Joyce Molyneux.  She was a formidable woman, born in Plumstead at the start of the war.  Later, fate took her into London’s East End, where she raised eight children, including me.

It’s impossible to fully honor a woman who touched the hearts of so many. I am not a poet, but I wrote something this morning which represents a small tribute to an exceptional woman.  Heathcliff called Kathy his heart’s darling.  At last, I know exactly what that means. God bless you, Mum.



You were perfect.  You were you.

Others saw imperfections, I saw uniqueness.

The gifts you were given you used to the full,

Your capacity for love, poured out into your children,

And passed in time from them to theirs.

You were fruitful. You…

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