Obituaries

In Blackwater Woods by Mary Oliver: Look, the trees are turning their own bodies into pillars of light, are giving off the rich fragrance of cinnamon and fulfillment, the long tapers of cattails are bursting and floating away over the blue shoulders of the ponds, and every pond, no matter what its name is, is nameless now. Every year everything I have ever learned in my lifetime leads back to this: the fires and the black river of loss whose other side is salvation, whose meaning none of us will ever know. To live in this world you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go. Love dad...Dec 27, 2022

Breathe, breathe in the air Don't be afraid to care Leave but don't leave me Look around, choose your own ground Long you live and high you fly And smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry And all you touch and all you see Is all your life will ever be Run, rabbit, run Dig that hole, forget the sun When at last the work is done Don't sit down, it's time to dig another one Long you live and high you fly But only if you ride the tide Balanced on the biggest wave You race towards an early grave Written by David Gilmour, Richard Wright, and Roger Waters.

Thinking of you today sweetheart, December 25, 2022. Love you, always and forever, your father. May you finally be at peace.

Skellig written by Loreena Mckennitt O light the candle, John The daylight has almost gone The birds have sung their last The bells call all to mass Sit here by my side For the night is very long There's something I must tell Before I pass along I joined the brotherhood My books were all to me I scribed the words of God And much of history Many a year was I Perched out upon the sea The waves would wash my tears, The wind, my memory I'd hear the ocean breathe Exhale upon the shore I knew the tempest's blood Its wrath I would endure And so the years went by Within my rocky cell With only a mouse or bird My friend; I loved them well And so it came to pass I'd come here to Romani And many a year it took Till I arrived here with thee On dusty roads I walked And over mountains high Through rivers running deep Beneath the endless sky Beneath these Jasmine flowers Amidst these Cypress trees I give you now my books And all their mysteries Now take the hourglass And turn it on its head For when the sands are still 'Tis then you'll find me dead O light the candle, John The daylight is almost gone The birds have sung their last The bells call all to mass

To Althea, from Prison by Richard Lovelace When Love with unconfinèd wings Hovers within my Gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the Grates; When I lie tangled in her hair, And fettered to her eye, The Gods that wanton in the Air, Know no such Liberty. When flowing Cups run swiftly round With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with Roses bound, Our hearts with Loyal Flames; When thirsty grief in Wine we steep, When Healths and draughts go free, Fishes that tipple in the Deep Know no such Liberty. When (like committed linnets) I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, Mercy, Majesty, And glories of my King; When I shall voice aloud how good He is, how Great should be, Enlargèd Winds, that curl the Flood, Know no such Liberty. Stone Walls do not a Prison make, Nor Iron bars a Cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for a Hermitage. If I have freedom in my Love, And in my soul am free, Angels alone that soar above, Enjoy such Liberty. Created for Amanda Paige, Steven Lee, & Hannah Mae. With love dad... December 23, 2022

I'm so sorry for your loss , Gaia was an awesome person , she would brighten up any room she was in and she will be missed . RIP

Fire and Rain Witten by James Taylor Just yesterday mornin', they let me know you were gone. Suzanne, the plans they made put an end to you. I walked out this morning and I wrote down this song. I just can't remember who to send it to. I've seen fire and I've seen rain. I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend. But I always thought that I'd see you again. Won't you look down upon me? You've got to help me make a stand. You've just got to see me through another day. My body's aching and my time is at hand. And I won't make it any other way. Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain. I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end. I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend. But I always thought that I'd see you again. Been walking my mind to an easy time, My back turned towards the sun. Lord knows, when the cold wind blows It'll turn your head around. Well, there's hours of time on the telephone line To talk about things to come. Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground. Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain. I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end. I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend. But I always thought that I'd see you, One more time again, now Thought I'd see you one more time again. There's just a few things coming my way this time around, now Thought I'd see you, thought I'd see you, fire and rain, now

Fragile Written by Sting If blood will flow when flesh and steel are one Drying in the color of the evening sun Tomorrow's rain will wash the stains away But something in our mind will always stay Perhaps this final act was meant To clinch a lifetime's argument That nothing comes from violence and nothing ever could For all those born beneath an angry star Lest we forget how fragile we are On and on the rain will fall Like tears from a star Like tears from a star On and on the rain will say How fragile we are How fragile we are On and on the rain will fall Like tears from a star Like tears from a star On and on the rain will say How fragile we are How fragile we are How fragile we are How fragile we are

Shape of My Heart He deals the cards as a meditation And those he plays never suspect He doesn't play for the money, he wins He don't play for respect He deals the cards to find the answer The sacred geometry of chance The hidden laws of a probable outcome While the numbers lead a dance I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier I know that the clubs are weapons of war I know that diamonds mean money for this art But that's not the shape of my heart He may play the Jack of diamonds He may lay the Queen of spades He may conceal, a King in his hand While the memory of it fades I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier I know that the clubs are weapons of war I know that diamonds mean money for this art But that's not the shape of my heart That's not the shape, the shape of my heart And if I told you that I loved you You'd maybe think there's something wrong I'm not a man of too many faces This mask I wear is one For those who speak know nothing And find out to their cost Like those who curse their luck, in too many places And those who fear of lost I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier I know that the clubs are weapons of war I know that diamonds mean money for this art But that's not the shape of my heart That's not the shape of my heart That's not the shape, the shape of my heart The shape of my heart Written by Sting

If you had a grave, there's no doubt I would be there at the crack of every dawn. If you had a headstone, there's no doubt I would place flowers there, beside you, on the lawn. If you had a place to rest, where the sun and the moon could reach you too, I will fill the back of my truck with a thousand roses and leave them there for you. Your father, Mike Legare December 19, 2022

Among School Children BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS I I walk through the long schoolroom questioning; A kind old nun in a white hood replies; The children learn to cipher and to sing, To study reading-books and history, To cut and sew, be neat in everything In the best modern wayâ€"the children's eyes In momentary wonder stare upon A sixty-year-old smiling public man. II I dream of a Ledaean body, bent Above a sinking fire, a tale that she Told of a harsh reproof, or trivial event That changed some childish day to tragedyâ€" Told, and it seemed that our two natures blent Into a sphere from youthful sympathy, Or else, to alter Plato's parable, Into the yolk and white of the one shell. III And thinking of that fit of grief or rage I look upon one child or t'other there And wonder if she stood so at that ageâ€" For even daughters of the swan can share Something of every paddler's heritageâ€" And had that colour upon cheek or hair, And thereupon my heart is driven wild: She stands before me as a living child. IV Her present image floats into the mindâ€" Did Quattrocento finger fashion it Hollow of cheek as though it drank the wind And took a mess of shadows for its meat? And I though never of Ledaean kind Had pretty plumage onceâ€"enough of that, Better to smile on all that smile, and show There is a comfortable kind of old scarecrow. V What youthful mother, a shape upon her lap Honey of generation had betrayed, And that must sleep, shriek, struggle to escape As recollection or the drug decide, Would think her son, did she but see that shape With sixty or more winters on its head, A compensation for the pang of his birth, Or the uncertainty of his setting forth? VI Plato thought nature but a spume that plays Upon a ghostly paradigm of things; Solider Aristotle played the taws Upon the bottom of a king of kings; World-famous golden-thighed Pythagoras Fingered upon a fiddle-stick or strings What a star sang and careless Muses heard: Old clothes upon old sticks to scare a bird. VII Both nuns and mothers worship images, But those the candles light are not as those That animate a mother's reveries, But keep a marble or a bronze repose. And yet they too break heartsâ€"O Presences That passion, piety or affection knows, And that all heavenly glory symboliseâ€" O self-born mockers of man's enterprise; VIII Labour is blossoming or dancing where The body is not bruised to pleasure soul, Nor beauty born out of its own despair, Nor blear-eyed wisdom out of midnight oil. O chestnut tree, great rooted blossomer, Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole? O body swayed to music, O brightening glance, How can we know the dancer from the dance? W. B. Yeats, “Among School Childrenâ€� from The Poems of W. B. Yeats: A New Edition, edited by Richard J. Finneran. Copyright 1933 by Macmillan Publishing Company, renewed © 1961 by Georgie Yeats. Reprinted with the permission of A. P. Watt, Ltd. on behalf of Michael Yeats.

An Irish Airman foresees his Death BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS I know that I shall meet my fate Somewhere among the clouds above; Those that I fight I do not hate, Those that I guard I do not love; My country is Kiltartan Cross, My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor, No likely end could bring them loss Or leave them happier than before. Nor law, nor duty bade me fight, Nor public men, nor cheering crowds, A lonely impulse of delight Drove to this tumult in the clouds; I balanced all, brought all to mind, The years to come seemed waste of breath, A waste of breath the years behind In balance with this life, this death.

Death by William Butler Yeats: Nor dread nor hope attend A dying animal; A man awaits his end Dreading and hoping all; Many times he died, Many times rose again. A great man in his pride Confronting murderous men Casts derision upon Supersession of breath; He knows death to the bone - Man has created death.

You're not just a memory or a part of our past, you're part of our family as long as it lasts. - Written on the headstone of Kiesha Weippeart

Amanda: No headstone to lay wild flowers by as an expression of the sorrow mover the loss of you. No grave to visit in the quietness of those sleepless nights. No place that marks the child I raised and loved, but now am forced by nature to leave behind. All I have to remind me of you is the smiles, the laughter, and the tears you had once shed that now rest in the deepest recesses of my mind. However, with every snowfall, every torrential rain, every ripping wind-storm, every morning dew, every shining star, every glistening sunrise, and with every majestic sundown; I see nothing but you. With love and sorrow, Your father Dec 12, 2022

December 1, 2022: Two months have passed since your departure, and every day I think of you. Love dad...

Dear Amanda, my sweet child. I know now, as I ponder all that has come and gone. I know what has hurt you the most and shattered the days of your childhood stability. If I knew now, what I did not try to know then, I am certain you would still be here with me now. There are no words of repentance since your soul has now passed through our earthly presents. But in the case that you are able to transcend my words, I say to you, I am most sincerely sorry for the irrefutable harm I have blindly cast upon you as a child by transferring my energy, my love, my time, and my conscience presence upon another, while you were still very much in need of my attention and love. Perhaps it's true; I have caused you more pain than I was capable of understanding at the time. From your father to you, I am so sorry for being so blind. With love and affection, Your father, Mike Legare November 30, 2022

For Amanda, love dad... Skellig O light the candle, John The daylight has almost gone The birds have sung their last The bells call all to mass Sit here by my side For the night is very long There's something I must tell Before I pass along I joined the brotherhood My books were all to me I scribed the words of God And much of history Many a year was I Perched out upon the sea The waves would wash my tears The wind, my memory I'd hear the ocean breathe Exhale upon the shore I knew the tempest's blood Its wrath I would endure And so the years went by Within my rocky cell With only a mouse or bird My friend; I loved them well And so it came to pass I'd come here to Romani And many a year it took Till I arrived here with thee On dusty roads I walked And over mountains high Through rivers running deep Beneath the endless sky Beneath these jasmine flowers Amidst these cypress trees I give you now my books And all their mysteries Now take the hourglass And turn it on its head For when the sands are still 'Tis then you'll find me dead O light the candle, John The daylight has almost gone The birds have sung their last The bells call all to mass By Loreena McKennitt

Hungry Ghosts in Buddhism For Amanda: Hungry ghost is a concept in Chinese Buddhism, Chinese traditional religion, Vietnamese Buddhism, Vietnamese traditional religion, Japanese Buddhism, and Tibetan Buddhism, representing beings who are driven by intense emotional needs in an animalistic way. The term is not to be confused with the generic term for "ghost" or damnation, guǐ (i.e. the residual spirit of a deceased ancestor). The understanding is that all people become such regular ghosts when they die and would then slowly weaken and eventually die a second time. Hungry ghosts, by contrast, are a much more exceptional case, and would only occur in very unfortunate circumstances, such as if a whole family was killed or when a family no longer venerated their ancestors. With the rise in popularity of Buddhism, the idea became popular that souls would live in space until reincarnation. In the Taoist tradition, it is believed that hungry ghosts can arise from people whose deaths have been violent or unhappy. Both Buddhism and Taoism share the idea that hungry ghosts can emerge from neglect or desertion of ancestors. According to the Hua-yen Sutra, evil deeds will cause a soul to be reborn in one of six different realms. The highest degree of evil deed will cause a soul to be reborn as a denizen of hell, a lower degree of evil will cause a soul to be reborn as an animal, and the lowest degree will cause a soul to be reborn as a hungry ghost.] According to the tradition, evil deeds that lead to becoming a hungry ghost are killing, stealing, and sexual misconduct. Desire, greed, anger, and ignorance are all factors in causing a soul to be reborn as a hungry ghost because they are motives for people to perform evil deeds. "For as far as we know, the only witness to it all since the dawn of man is none other than the moon." - M. Legare In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts: Close Encounters with Addiction By Gabor Mate Gabor Maté's In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts: Close Encounters with Addictions is an unconventional nonfiction book on how to treat addiction, how addicts can better assimilate into society, and how society can dispel many of the myths that surround addiction. Maté works as an addiction specialist at the Portland Hotel in Vancouver, Canada. Gabor Maté's In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts: Close Encounters with Addictions is an unconventional nonfiction book on how to treat addiction, how addicts can better assimilate into society, and how society can dispel many of the myths that surround addiction. Maté works as an addiction specialist at the Portland Hotel in Vancouver, Canada. Much of the book, published in 2010, focuses on Maté's evidence that childhood stressors increase the likelihood that one will become an adult addict (whether to an addictive substance, or any addictive behavior). In his view, society treats addicts as outcasts because society views them as making poor choices when instead addicts are often dealing with the consequences of catastrophic childhood stress and expressing it in addictive substances or behaviors. Maté doesn't intend for the book to be the definitive word on how society should handle addiction and addicts. Rather, it is a combination of scientific data, anecdotes about Maté's patients, interviews with addicts and other medical professionals, and his own experience with addiction. Maté has never been a drug user but is a compulsive shopper and workaholic. He does not see his behaviors as markedly different than those of the addicts he treats, only less destructive. Rather than resorting to pejoratives for addicts, Maté views them as the "hungry ghosts" of the title. The hungry ghost realm is one of the six realms comprising the Buddhist wheel of life. Those existing in the hungry ghost realm are always seeking relief in substances, objects, and behaviors that they hope will fulfill them. Doomed to remain hungry, addicts constantly seek because they do not know what they actually need. Societal disapproval, and the failure and propaganda of the so-called War on Drugs, have created a view in which addicts are seen as subhuman. This view denies them the compassion and support that would allow them to gain the awareness, discipline, and confidence that might allow them to leave the realm of hungry ghosts. Maté does not claim that society can save every addict. He admits that he may never even free himself of his own compulsions. The book, The Realm of Hungry Ghosts, is meant as a plea for open-minded inquiry into the causes of addiction, in the hopes of finding better alternatives than the persecution and shaming of the addicted. by Loreena Mckennitt

For Amanda: Dante's Prayer When the dark wood fell before me And all the paths were overgrown When the priests of pride say there is no other way I tilled the sorrows of stone I did not believe because I could not see Though you came to me in the night When the dawn seemed forever lost You showed me your love in the light of the stars Cast your eyes on the ocean Cast your soul to the sea When the dark night seems endless Please remember me Then the mountain rose before me By the deep well of desire From the fountain of forgiveness Beyond the ice and the fire Cast your eyes on the ocean Cast your soul to the sea When the dark night seems endless Please remember me Though we share this humble path, alone How fragile is the heart Oh give these clay feet wings to fly To touch the face of the stars Breathe life into this feeble heart Lift this mortal veil of fear Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears We'll rise above these earthly cares Cast your eyes on the ocean Cast your soul to the sea When the dark night seems endless Please remember me Please remember me By Loreena McKennitt

A letter I wrote to my daughter, Amanda, just months before her passing: Yes, I understand. However, I have had years of self-assessment and have pondered in-depth how things had gone so awry in those disturbing years. I can honestly say I am far more awake today to the pain and suffering that had transpired in those years than I have ever been in my life. Akin to stepping off the edge of a cliff: not knowing when your foot will grip the solid earth beneath your feet to stop your fall, I am able and willing to take a chance on showing you both how much I care for all my children. Thus, I have taken the first steps for both of you; it's up to you if you are willing to allow me to show you the real me? Not the off-the-rails man you recall in your past when I was blinded by my own misguided path, but who I am now, in that my resentments for certain people, my blaming of others, and my unhinged bouts of anger have subsided into an awareness of how much damage such emotions and thoughts can cause. Further, not only am I much more educated in the area of psychology, I am very close to the edge of my life and in knowing this, one tends to get his or her priorities straight and find out what truly matters before it's too late. Though you may say to yourself, "it's already far too late." It's never too late for healing as long as one is a living breathing being on this earth! In addition, I would have to add that fear also has played a role in my self-reflection: not fear for myself, but fear for my children! In that I mean, I fear for every one of my children that they will suffer the darkness of feeling frightened and alone; be it at the hands of a bully, a rapist, a killer, depression, or drugs. I have met the darkness in my time: I am no stranger to feeling alone and frightened. I am also no stranger to being lost and wasted on drugs: this is why I must reach out to those of my children who feel lost, frightened, and alone before my time comes to an end. Thus, by accepting each one of you as you are without a knee-jerk reaction to anything you may say or do and by sharing with you my own experiences in relation to what you may be going through now, perhaps something may resonate with you and help you rise above it. Even if it's just a little bit: it's still progress. With love, take care, and know I am here if you need me or you need anything: day or night. Even if it's just to chat about nothing or to go for a walk in a peaceful place. In closing, though I believe the essence of a mature human being is one who can honestly accept the fact that nobody owes them anything and one owes nothing to the world; the exception to this is when one has children. Because one brought children into this world, one owes their children; not the other way around. Just as their children will owe their children. For further confirmation of this school of thought, see the original black and white movie entitled, "To Sir With Love," starring Sydney Poitier. To Sir, with Love is a 1967 British drama film that deals with social and racial issues in an inner-city school. It stars Sidney Poitier and features Christian Roberts, Judy Geeson, Suzy Kendall, and singer Lulu making her film debut. However, it also deals with the troubling relationship "Poitier" has with his father. PS Please forward this to Amanda as I have written this to both of you. Love you, Dad...

This is a letter I wrote to you (Amanda) three months prior to your passing: To Amanda Do you know how many times I wanted to give up? But I'm a fighter, in the same way, I know you are a fighter because you are a Legare. You have within you the same French blood of one of the greatest French fighters in human history: Napoleon. You have to fight to get yourself out of this very dark place you feel trapped in...but you do not have to do it alone. You have many people on your side who want you to rise above this darkness. You have your sister Alex, you have your aunt Louise, and you also have me. You have many cousins who you haven't even met before who will also help you because many of these people have been where you are today. Though I don't know much about your mother anymore, I know in her own way, that she wants you to come out of this once and for all. You are much more than the emotional bruises and the psychological wounds that you carry. There are so many things you have not experienced in life that are waiting for you to discover. I want you to come home (with me, Hannah, and Steven) for a while and I will find you the help you need and be your rock and support to help you heal and begin anew. We can get you treatment through the "Virtual Clinic" that deals solely with drug addiction. We can have a prescription of Methadone or Suboxone prescribed for you and I will add you to my Blue Cross Medical Plan to help cover the cost of any medication you need to help you. You must come home and let's get you the help you need so you can start living the functional life that you deserve. I am here for you, and I want you to come home. Never give up on yourself Amanda; you are a beautiful human being who has simply seen too much of the dark side of life. For everything, there is an opposite and the opposite of darkness is, of course, light. Come home and sit in the sun for a time and let's have those discussions we never had but always should have had. With love, Dad... A new virtual clinic for people in Alberta was launched last month to address a gap in care that has become more evident during the COVID-19 pandemic. Alberta's Virtual Opioid Dependency Program provides technology-delivered same-day medication starts, Opioid Treatment Transition Service, and ongoing Opioid Dependency Care. Open seven days a week at 1-844-3837688. What is methadone? Methadone is an opioid medication. An opioid is sometimes called a narcotic. Methadone reduces withdrawal symptoms in people addicted to heroin or other narcotic drugs without causing the "high" associated with the drug addiction. Methadone is used as a pain reliever and as part of drug addiction detoxification and maintenance programs. It is available only from a certified pharmacy. Methadone is used for around-the-clock treatment of severe pain. This medicine is not for use on an as-needed basis for pain. What is Suboxone? Suboxone is an opioid prescription drug used to treat opioid dependence. It can be used as an induction agent to stabilize someone in withdrawal during the medical detoxification process as well as for maintenance treatment to promote recovery from opioid use disorder. It consists of a combination of two drugs: buprenorphine (a partial opioid agonist) and naloxone (an opioid antagonist) and is administered as a dissolvable film placed either under the tongue or in the cheek. Napoleon Bonaparte, later known by his regnal name Napoleon I, was a French military and political leader who rose to prominence during the French Revolution and led several successful campaigns during the Revolutionary Wars. He was the de facto leader of the French Republic as First Consul from 1799 to 1804. Napoleon was Emperor of the French from 1804 until 1814 and again in 1815. Napoleon's political and cultural legacy has endured, and he has been one of the most celebrated and controversial leaders in world history. Source: Wikipedia ______________________________________________________________________________________________ Can't Find My Way Home - Steve Winwood (For Amanda with Love) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0g7NcUj68tk _______________________________________________________ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qM4Pb7-Eolk

It astounds me that I was so blind to your inner struggles. I am ashamed, as much as I am sorry, looking back now, I can see you have always been in so much pain. Love you, dad. November 30, 2022

All precious things lay hidden Or too late they are discovered Stars watch from above weeping Just shadows in her radiance The earth around her still flourishes From her nature nourishes 1000 years her breathe unheard That which surrounds unstirred Her eyes open, her hands unfold From her lips a frown slips To the horizon her eyes reach A wasteland dares to breach The land destroyed, no longer green She wonders how long it has been Buildings where trees used to tower Concrete lays where plants used to flower Animals forced to leave fleeing A tear falls at what she is seeing Absent of the world she once knew Just a dream she whispered Please let it be true All precious things lay hidden Or too late they are discovered By Peter Gundry

My Land is on Fire Our Home is now Gone Our Tears sow the land we stand upon Again, greed will harvest the earth - Peter Gundry

The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins? - Peter Gundry

The thief left it behind by Ryokan English version by Stephen Mitchell Original Language Japanese The thief left it behind: the moon at my window. Ryokan had a reputation for gentleness that was sometimes carried to comical extremes. A famous story about him relates that one day when Ryokan returned to his hut, he discovered a robber who had broken in and was in the process of stealing the impoverished monk's few possessions. In the thief's haste to leave, he left behind a cushion. Ryokan grabbed the cushion and ran after the thief to give it to him. This event prompted Ryokan to compose this haiku, one of his best-known poems. The moon is a common metaphor, especially among Zen poets, to represent enlightened awareness. In this haiku, Ryokan is laughing at the absurdity of the theft. "The thief left it behind," he foolishly couldn't recognize the one great treasure the poor monk possessed -- "the moon," enlightenment -- and, instead, took an armload of worthless junk. (To point out what a petty haul it was, Ryokan even ran after the thief with the missed cushion -- perhaps a nudge toward meditation.) Any sort of theft of Ryokan's possessions was a pointless act because, of course, who can take the moon from his window? Ryokan is amused and invites us to join in his laughter. Commentary by Ivan Granger For Amanda, Love Dad...

The birds have vanished into the sky, and now the last cloud drains away. We sit together, the mountain and I, until only the mountain remains. A Poem by an 8th Century Chinese Poet "Li Po" For Amanda, Love Dad

Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. The Stolen Child W. B. Yeats - 1865-1939 Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake, There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water rats; There we've hid our faery vats, Full of berries And of reddest stolen cherries. Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim gray sands with light, Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night, Weaving olden dances Mingling hands and mingling glances Till the moon has taken flight; To and fro we leap And chase the frothy bubbles, While the world is full of troubles And anxious in its sleep. Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Where the wandering water gushes From the hills above Glen-Car, In pools among the rushes That scarce could bathe a star, We seek for slumbering trout And whispering in their ears Give them unquiet dreams; Leaning softly out From ferns that drop their tears Over the young streams. Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Away with us, he's going, The solemn-eyed: He'll hear no more the lowing Of the calves on the warm hillside Or the kettle on the hob Sing peace into his breast, Or see the brown mice bob Round and round the oatmeal chest. For he comes, the human child, To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Lovingly yours, Amanda, Your father, Mike Legare November 23, 2022

In the book by Stephen Wyatt (2009) about the life and death of, The Countess, Erzsebeth Bathory (1560 – 1614). Wyatt begins with a line from one of the oldest debates among kings, thieves, and everyone else in between: "The tales are told by the victors" — Stephen Wyatt (2009). The authentic account of the fall from grace of one of Hungarians' most powerful Protestant families in the land; The story is about the life of Countess Erzsebeth Bathory, the wife of a ruthless warrior who suddenly dies of typhus from a Turkish whore. However, Erzebeth's unshakable loyalty to the Protestant religion is at war with her insatiable and ravenous lust for youth, which leads her to blood-curdling acts in the hopes of maintaining her youth. Thus, convicted of her crimes, she is forever entombed with only a small splinter of a hole to receive food and water. Thus, the Countess feels she has become forgotten by God and turns against him to take her own life. Erzsebeth's awakening of the Myth of God: "You have forgotten me. I cannot be humiliated in this way; give me an illness that will kill me fast. A proper burial or feeding of the wolves is the same thing. Man created God in his own image, which gives him dominance over everything else – birds, lions, trees, and women. That's it! You are nothing but a myth! The Greeks created Gods for everything because they couldn't figure out why the sea, why love, why death; now man has created you to appease and feed our fears and our ignorance because we have so many questions and so few answers. Holy water is just dirty water. Why am I so afraid to die? Because I do not believe in you or in eternity of the soul: When I die, I shall rot, and nothing will be left of me. I have just you in prayer to forgive myself for my sins. Love is the dagger that stabbed me in the back. There is nothing in this world you can be certain of except in time will soon bury us all." - Countess Erzsebeth Bathory (1560 – 1614). So, you see child; it is only a matter of time, before I too, will meet you in the great void of the outer cosmos. Mike Legare November 21, 2022

Love you, Miss you, Wish you were here. Dad...