Classic Poem

When life has crushed the last rich measure of your blood,
And flattened out your breath and set you free,
Out from the confines of its finite mood
To test the wide fresh edges of infinity;

Then in the empty stillness after you are gone
We shall sit down alone, in a quiet place,
And, as children count their gifts, so one by one
We shall count our treasures, memories that trace

What you were like, and how you spoke and moved,
To bring your quickened presence once again,
Knowing that those whom you most generously loved
Will not call, will not reach after you in vain.

But that somewhere, so slightly gone, you will keep
Touch in the darkness, warm to our need, a voice clear
On the mind's wind, in the current of the heart. Deep
Under the surfaces of life, you will be here.