Perhaps if she'd been born today, she might have lived past twenty-eight; but she came forth into Ukraine under benighted Soviet reign. 'Twas sweetness streaming through her veins that caused her heart such strain; in infancy 'twas not repaired, and so it wrought her pain. Her family sensed 'twas in vain but lived in hope and prayer; for all that joy she'd radiate, her heart could not contain. Though dint of chance her health betrayed, Yevgenia prized each day; she lived and loved; learned, worked and played; refused to be contained. A red-haired angel full of care, 'twas never friend so dear and rare; but came that day, took her away, leaving behind despair. Fam'ly and friends still do remain, our hearts left torn in twain; that yonderday-- forever stays, though fate rejects delay.
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of a son
