They walk here with us, hand-in-hand; <br />We gossip, knee-by-knee; <br />They tell us all that they have planned-- <br />Of all their joys to be,-- <br />And, laughing, leave us: And, to-day, <br />All desolate we cry <br />Across wide waves of voiceless graves-- <br />Good-by! Good-by! Good-by!<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/our-own-2/
