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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