Margaret Andrews writes:

Splashes of colour on her canvasses
And splashes of colour on her clothes,
T’is the way I always think of Isabelle
And my mind just simply implodes!

I see her in her living room,
With a pencil stuck through her hair,
Desperately searching for spectacles
Which she put down, God only knew where.

High stacks of books on her dining table
And precious bits galore;
Cardboard boxes filled right up to their brims,
All scattered on the floor.

I remember her at her kitchen table
With a ftira biż-żejt in her hand,
Passionately explaining one of her theories,
Which I would try so hard to understand;

I see her in her amazing studio,
Pointing out all of her works of art,
A few she wasn’t fond of, but from the others
I knew she could never part.

Fond memories of her in her tight denim jeans
With Graham by her side;
Crash helmet in hand, introducing him
With so much love and such pride!

But mostly I remember her at some opening
Of one of her many exhibitions
With her friends all around, even Dennis there,
She surely achieved most of her ambitions!

Farewell dear Isabelle, you left us way too soon
And the peace you need we hope you will find;
A legacy of your work and a wealth of friends
You most definitely left behind.

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