My Friend Is Dead
My friend is dead! I shall not see her face again, Or hear her soothing voice When I need The comfort of kind words; I shall not meet her on the street; She will not come To visit me at home; My friend is dead!
Yet, still she lives, And moves serenely through the halls, The winding, hidden halls Of Memory. Her smile is pictured there As I last saw it, Etched on my brain Made to retain The priceless records of past deeds, Past friendships and past loves.
Even the echo of her voice As I last heard it, Floats through that mystic room Of treasured memories, And will, until the day When some one says of me— "My friend is dead!"