Bonita Ann Graham

By James Whitcomb Riley

I cannot say, and I will not say

That he is dead. He is just away!

With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand

He has wandered into an unknown land,

And left us dreaming how very fair

It needs must be, since he lingers there.

And you, O you, who the wildest yearn

For the old-time step and the glad return,

Think of him faring on, as dear

In the love of There as the love of Here;

And loyal still, as he gave the blows

Of his warrior-strength to his country’s foes.

Mild and gentle, as he was brave,

When the sweetest love of his life he gave

To simple things: Where the violets grew

Blue as the eyes they were likened to,

The touches of his hands have strayed

As reverently as his lips have prayed:

When the little brown thrush that harshly chirred

Was dear to him as the mocking-bird;

And he pitied as much as a man in pain

A writhing honey-bee wet with rain.

Think of him still as the same, I say:

He is not dead, he is just away!

Fond memories and expressions of sympathy may be shared at www.MountPleasantFuneral.com for the Graham family.