My mother Marcy was born 63 years ago today. She died in 1980, when she was 37. (Today's title with apologies to A. E. Housman.)

I couldn't have asked for a better mother. For Marcy's birthday today, I offer up the first part of a poem, written by my great-great grandfather, Laurel P. Venen. (I think he went by "L.P. Venen") It was published posthumously in a book of Venen's poetry in 1926, entitled "Kalethea" (from the Greek, for "beautiful and true"). Venen was a Latin and Greek professor but also taught and wrote about astronomy and math.

L.P. Venen's only daughter, Etta Venen Hartman, was Peter's grandmother and my great-grandmother. Etta's mother, (L.P. Venen's wife, Emma Clark) died shortly after Etta was born, after about a year of marriage. I'm not sure if this poem was inspired by those events, but it sounds like it may have been.

Here is the first stanza (my favorite one) of Venen's poem "Where Our Mamma's Never Die"

Now my mamma's gone and left me,
Papa says that she is dead;
Though I scarcely understand him,
I believe what he hath said.
I remember how she kissed me
Just before she fell asleep;
How she smiled and faintly whispered
When they all began to weep.
But she said if I were truthful
I should meet her bye and bye,
In the land of love and beauty,
Where our mammas never die.

--L.P. Venen, August 7, 1875.