maryanne

Not, How Did He Die, But How Did He Live?

Not how did he die, but how did he live?
Not what did he gain, but what did he give?
These are the units to measure the worth
Of a man as a man, regardless of birth.
Not, what was his church, nor what was his creed?
But had he befriended those really in need?
Was he ever ready, with word of good cheer,
To bring back a smile, to banish a tear?
Not what did the sketch in the newspaper say,
But how many were sorry when he passed away.

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Word.

There is a word, of grief the sounding token.
There is a word bejewelled with bright tears.
The saddest word fond lips have ever spoken,
A little word that breaks the chain of years.
Its utterance must ever bring emotion,
The memories it crystals cannot die.
‘Tis known in every land, on every ocean,
It is
Goodbye.

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A Dream.

I dreamed in a dream I saw a city invincible
to the whole of the rest of the earth.
I dreamed that was the new city of friends.
Nothing was greater there than the quality
of robust love.
It led the rest.
It was seen every hour in the actions of the men
of that city and in all their looks and words.