Let not my words disturb,
   Or make profane the sacred recess of your mind.
    But rather let them pass over,
   As swallows in the autumn,
   And in their passing leave a memory
   Sweet in its remembrance
   That fills a place I do not know.
   For in my speaking,
   I would you would remember
   Not empty words, but pregnant feelings
   That birth happy memories in the face of sadness
   And leave the laughter of their children
   To ring through your life when I am gone.