Judy has departed our caravan
While she still had the will to roam.
She died enroute to somewhere,
Not in a nursing home.

Surrounded by friends, appreciated;
With destination and agenda,
Clear spoken, with gusto and vigor;
Living in a mobile hacienda.

I think it is a kinder fate
When death comes from our blindside
When we’re focused on the task of the day,
To drop from our camel mid-stride.

Her death will not drag us to sadness
But remind us to remember
That time is a bird on the wing
Flying swiftly toward December.

Soon our caravan will up and away.
We’ve paused to celebrate and grieve;
Respectfully cover her body with sand;
Mount up our camels and leave.