It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make men better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sear: A lily of a day Is fairer far, in May, Although it fall and die that night, It was the plant and flower of light. In small proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures life may perfect be. (Ben Johnson) No one knows how long they have on this earth, but I know it is made a better place for having the privaledge to spend even one day of it with special people like my Judy and your dearest Cheryl. We have not lost them. They are with us forever.