by Arthur Wade
If when I'm gone you chance to think of me,
Think not, I beg, that I am far away,
But that from near-by shades I still can see
And share your pains or smile when you're at play.
Think I am near and still belong to you;
No longer mortal but with love divine
I'll hold and kiss you as I used to do
And you shall look and tell me you are mine.
You will remember too those golden hours
When we through flowery meads walked hand in hand,
When Nature sang and every bliss was ours
And rainbows lit our way through fairy land.
Remember so – and all the rest forget.
Bid every haunting, evil memory begone
Think of the good and bear no vain regret
And so – to where I wait – come gently on.
Arthur Wade (1947)