Sometimes, in the weary hours
of the morning, when the silence
is all around me, I hear her voice
so faintly calling me in her most
desperate voice--I have no choice,
but to follow where she calls me;
Occasionally, when I try to rest
my heavy head upon my pillow on
my bed, she comes to me in the most
haunting dream, filling me with a
chill and thrill I can not understand,
except in the most bizarre trance;
She is gone, this five years past
and laid so finally far under grass,
But I can feel her spirit walking
in the garden slowly by the fountain
lake; I can not forget her, nor ever
forsake, her dear,sweet loving memory.
I hear her now, and I must go.