Your face had become dark, and, upon the day's awakening, your ashes will disperse themselves throughout the garden.

Sandy, Sandy, your ashes caress the rainbow flowers that tickle the blue of the sky. | [short poem of Miro, on the death of his good old art-paw, the inventor of the 'mobile', Sandy Calder ] | In: his 'Foreword', Barcelona 1977; as quoted in Calder Miro, ed. Elizabeth Hutton Turner Oliver Wick; Philip Wilson Publishers, London 2004, p. 309