We who are now dust
Wish you to know
How warmly the blood pumped in our veins;
How fervently we loved each other,
This life, these humble towns.
Although we died,
We did not live to die;
Our time was not the ticking clock’s to count,
But something measured by the beating heart,
Which knew the worth and weight of every breath,
And faithfully,
With tender gratitude,
Marked out the hours, till its hour came.
You cannot grieve us; we are too long dead.
No one who lives can still remember us.
But if you wish to pay us homage (though
An homage we will never feel or know),
Then cling more tightly to each other when
The winter wind or drenching summer rain
Lashes, tonight, across these fields we loved.
And then forget us. We have had our say.
This world is for the living. Dust is dust. Live well.
