She's Not Really Dead Poem by Randy McClave

I will never say that she's dead
Even when we break bread,
I look about and she's still there
I even smell her perfume in the air,
Then comes the days that I remember her voice;
I then rejoice.

She always enjoyed telling a simple fable
My thoughts they would then enable,
But, now she's no longer in my sight
But, because of her I still write,
So, when I say my prayers before going to bed;
I will never say, she's dead.

Randy L. McClave