On the day she died

A Hair perhaps divides the False and True;
Yes; and a single Alif were the clue--
Could you but find it--to the Treasure-house,
And peradventure to THE MASTER too;

Whose secret Presence through Creation's veins
Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains;
Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi and
They change and perish all--but He remains;

Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who
Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through,
Not one returns to tell us of the Road,
Which to discover we must travel too.

From “The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam”
Translated by Edward J. Fitzgerald

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I instantly remember the above lines, once I know somebody new left our world..
May God rest all in peace.. Grant their families patience.. And gift me serenity and strong belief..