What Remains Poem by ashok jadhav

I went again the old footpath
We used when days were warm and wide;
The grass had grown where once you stood,
The stream ran on as if you'd died.
The trees still bent the way they did,
Their leaves unchanged by human pain;
They whispered names the wind once knew
And could not keep, yet spoke again.
At first, my grief was sharp and loud,
A breaking cry the hills returned;
The world seemed wrong for moving on
While I stood still where loss had burned.
But time, like rain on waiting soil,
Softened the places grief had scarred;
Your absence taught me how to hold
What cannot stay, yet leaves a mark.
I found you not in shape or sound,
But in the things you taught me then—
In kindness done, in patience learned,
In loving well my fellow men.
Now when I pass the setting sun
Or hear a song we used to know,
I bow my head—not just in pain,
But in thanks for the love we know.
For loss may take the living form,
And grief may bend the heart in two;
Yet in remembrance, softly kept,
The dead walk on in what we do.