I think we’re never really dead and gone,
Long as memories of us, in friends live on.
If our name yet on the lips is found,
Somehow our presence could still surround
To be recalled, each time a smile breaks thru;
As they think of the things we used to do.
Loved ones will imitate the little ways
With which we tried to brighten other days.
All the things we did to make life dear
They will remember, when we are not here.
It might appear death ends our life as such;
But we live on in those whose hearts we’ve touched.
Patti Masterman's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Epilogue by Patti Masterman )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
(1207 - 1273)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Harivansh Rai Bachchan
(27 November 1907 – 18 January 2003)
(31 March 1934 – 31 May 2009)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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