And shall you mourn for me when I am gone,
Gone like embittered winds or winter snows,
Gone like a vagrant wanderer ever on—
No shadowed thought of whither he must go.
Will you think of me then—think then of me,
Of hopes and dreams that love could not express,
Of love whose gentle stirrings could not see
The fruits of life that passed it as it slept?
Yet hope should call that you remember this:
Once there was a man of caring—kind and true,
Whose restless spirit led his heart amiss
And did his fondest longings misconstrue…
Yet when I’ve gone, say nothing for me then,
Save, he was a man who lived and loved and learned.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.