Polly; a life lived beautifully

Polly was ninety years and eight days old when she died and it was my privilege to have known her and to attend her funeral today. She was a twinkly person. She always wore a smile and her eyes always shone. She would have danced every moment of every day given the chance. She was heartbroken when her Frank died seventeen years ago, but Mr Astaire danced her out through those curtains today and there wasn't a dry eye in the house.

cheek to cheek