A poem 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;
Think of him still as the same, I say;
He is not dead-he is just away!

Read at my friend, Ed Cotter's funeral on Wednesday.