The Gone

Eunice Clark

We are gone, no one remembers the gone
After the first proud legend of our going.

Oh, we are legion who have smiled and sped
From one place to another.
They will think, over an old book yellowing,
"Fellow minds who are not here any more, the laughter
Does not tinkle between your words after you go,
You, the speakers."

We alone who are dead know that there is no death.
After the fever of our first dying
We went elsewhere and became else
And spoke otherwise.