The sun is but a ball of gas,
if not for the dreams of man.
A day is but a collection of hours,
if not for that one warm smile.
Such as this; you were just a man,
but for the liveliness of your heart.
It is in our grief we find you,
laughing, smiling, crying.
And when we see you there,
awaiting our comfort,
we cannot hope to feel sorrow
for you do not abide it;
and in that instant, neither can we.
For now you arenít beyond us,
above us, or below us;
you are within us.
And we cherish you,
as a gardener to a tree.
Letting it grow to new heights,
and sitting beneath it,
comforted by shade.