If I should die and leave you here awhile,
Be not like others, sore and undone,
Who keep long vigils by the silent dust, and weep.
For my sake - turn again to life and smile
Nerving thy heart and trembling hand to do
Something to comfort other hearts than thine.
Complete those dear unfinished tasks of mine
And I, perchance, may therein comfort you.
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I found this poem tonight, written in mom's handwriting. She copied it from somewhere, as it's posted on the web many times, but it seems fitting to be posted here.
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