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 )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
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