I be the first of us to die,
Let grief not blacken long your sky.
yet modest in your grieving.
There is a change but not a leaving.
just as death is part of life,
The dead live on forever in the living.
And all the gathered riches of our journey,
The moments shared, the mysteries
The steady layering of intimacy stored,
The things that made
us laugh or weep or sing,
The joy of sunlit snow or first unfurling of the
The wordless language of look and touch,
Each giving and each taking,
These are not flowers that fade,
that fall and crumble,
Nor are they stone,
For even stone cannot the wind
and rain withstand
And mighty mountain peaks in time reduce to sand.
we were, we are.
What we had, we have.
A conjoined past imperishably present.
So when you walk the wood where once
we walked together
And scan in vain the dappled bank beside you for my shadow,
Or pause where we always did upon the hill to gaze across the land,
something, reach by habit for my hand,
And finding none, feel sorrow start
to steal upon you,
Close your eyes.
Listen for my footfall in your heart.
I am not gone but merely walk within
read this poem in Sheila Hancocks book "The Two of Us" about her husband
John Thaw. The poem originally featured in Nicholas Evans Book "The Smoke
I miss you for every second of every day, I know that you live on in my shattered
I miss you so very, very much.