In honor of her love of poetry, several of the children and grandchildren collaborated on this poetic tribute:
Born Nancy D., she became “Nana” to all —
Married to Papa, “who was also called Paul”.
Gave birth to six, of whom Libby was best,
Joy’s alright, and then…all the rest.
—Born in the city, and properly raised,
She moved to the farm for the rest of her days.
There, ‘possums and ponies and pigeons amused,
Buttercups, spirea, and lilacs enthused.
To the windows, birds flew — the great and the small,
Bringing constant delight to both Nancy and Paul.
Their names were familiar — except when they weren’t —
But field guides were handy, for a thing to be learnt.
Green beans and squash through her fingers would fly;
Okra, tomatoes, and plums were laid by.
At dinner, she’d smile, as crosswords were passed,
But spotting your elbows, her face was aghast!
“No shoes on the carpet!”, “No dogs in the house!” —
Respect those two rules or her temper arouse!
“There’s a time for all things — for bikes and balls,
But not all should happen inside these four walls!”
(I can tell ya) Foolishness wasn’t a thing to be tried —
“Oh change your ways!” she most earnestly cried.
(See) Manners were key, and you’d know when they lacked,
For a grimace of shame would shed light on the fact.
“Hey!” should be “hello”, and “yeah!” should be “yes”,
She taught us to speak with such grace and finesse.
A sense of things proper…the will to do right,
Was a guide to her footsteps from morning till night.
She was mother and grandmother, and busily so —
Always exceeding the status quo.
From dawn until dusk, she labored in love,
Inspir’d by her Father…in heaven above.
Wielding needle and thread as her tools to make dresses,
And brushes and bows to control the girls’ tresses,
She provided and guided, and nurtured and cared,
And not just with us — no, with all she shared.
While practical in practice, she was artful at heart,
And would, to each child, such values impart.
She played the piano with skill and with grace,
And when we played too? A smile lit her face.
She compiled in notebooks — and gifted to each —
Poems intended to inspire and teach.
Limericks, poetry, verses, rhymes —
Some of them witty and some of them wise.
And the psalms that she loved, we recited and read —
She practiced them with us each night before bed.
Whether “The Lord is my shepherd” or “Give thanks to the Lord”,
They brought peace to our hearts and a love for the Word.
Wisdom was hers, but she valued ours too —
She listened and learned as we aged and we grew.
To hear our adventures brought special delight,
But the greatest was knowing we walked in the light.
She’s fought the good fight; finished the race,
And while no one is perfect, we trust in His grace
To welcome her home, to bring her to glory,
And until we can join…we honor her story.