Gone but Not Forgotten:
A Victorian Sentimental Verse.

Mourning Handkercheif 11; by  F. O'Donnell 
Gone but not forgotten, Days drag into weeks
Fighting for the meaning, my mood in troughs and peaks
The valley once so verdant, is now a misty lodge
The mountain peak a bright sharp ledge, now a snow bound block

Gone but not forgotten, the weeks stretch into months
My torpourous black clad form to others is a bore
The bright and breezy outlook is low and drab and grey
And dancing love and laughter is very far away.

Gone but not forgotten, the time it goes so slow
And still I look upon your box and know that you must go.
The cemetery at Killingbeck where all the family lay
In scattered graves about the place
My resting place one day.

Gone but not forgotten, the year draws to a close
Close of life, close of face, laid in the coffin dead not in a doze
And now reality is like a knife a cut to show it’s not a dream

And I must travel ever on until that day we meet again.

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