The dead they are not gone, we listen
Carefully to hear, we think, to what
They try to say, to tell us,
From wherever they have gone
Although we’ve lost, somehow, their
Voice, their touch, a thousand
Memories we still remember, yet
We listen, how we listen, like
Children lost in waiting
For someone to take our hand
And lead us home again, until
We realize, all in a moment,
We are so very far from home.