I am standing on the seashore,
A ship sails and spreads her white sails to the morning breeze
And starts for the ocean.
She is an object of beauty and I stand watching her till at last she fades on the horizon, and someone at my side says “ she is gone”.
Gone from my sight that is all.
She is just as large in the masts, hull and spurs, as she was when I saw her,
and just as able to bear her load of living freight to its destination.
The diminished size, the total loss of sight is in me not in her, and just at the moment when someone at my side says “She is gone”
There are others who are watching her coming, and other voices take up the glad shout.
“here she comes.”
And that is DYING.
Rest in peace, Goldy.