I cannot think of
My friends as dead,
Who walk with me
No more.
As along this path
Of life I tread,
They have but gone
On before.
We mourn for them
We cannot help,
When at last we look
On their mortal clay.
Yet, beautiful thought
We'll meet again;
For soon we, too
Must go their way.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem