It is very hard to believe that Vicky died a year ago today. If you have a moment, give her a thought. Wherever she may happen to be now in the cosmos, I am sure she will hear it and be glad of it.

I am in an Omar Khayyam frame of mind in remembering her and our long friendship, with all its ups and downs. So I will let the end of the Rubaiyat express my feelings on her passing and her memory, and I will remember later today to turn down that empty glass.

LXXII.
Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that in the Branches sang,
Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!

LXXIII.
Ah, Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits—and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!

LXXIV.
Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane,
The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again:
How oft hereafter rising shall she look
Through this same Garden after me—in vain!

LXXV.
And when Thyself with shining Foot shall pass
Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on The Grass,
And in Thy joyous Errand reach the Spot
Where I made one—turn down an empty Glass!