by William Wordsworth (1770-1850)
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and oh,
The difference to me!
|It's strange to think that Holly would be close to the same age as Briz in this picture.|
Happy Birthday to Holland. Strange to think about being in the hospital two years ago meeting my little angel for the first time. Like with all kids growing up, time goes by so fast, and yet, it feels like forever ago that she wasn't in my life. Imagining my baby as a two year old feels very surreal, which is sad. I would much rather it be, well, real. All I know is her as a baby, so it's sort of a strange jump to her being a toddler. But even still, I try to imagine what she would be like as a two year old. While I don't know completely, I can imagine that she would be a chubby-cheeked, goofy, sweet little two year old. And that makes me smile. I miss the two year old Holland.