Connie

She did not come to the club yesterday but quietly died at the home she shared with her daughter and grandchildren.

When I was Connie's support worker she taught me her favourite poem:
. 
I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the Earth's flowing breast
A tree that looks at God all day
A lifts her leafy arms to pray 
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair
Upon whose bossom snow has lain
Who intimately lives with rain
Poems are made by fools like me
But only God can make a tree 

Everyone loved Connie! What a marvellous, wonderful woman and I was privileged to spend time with her..

(She only ever wore Blue!)