Some folks can move away and then they’re gone
And when they are you scarcely can remember
The sort of way their life was patterned on
And if they left in August or December,
Or how they looked—how easy they were
making it,
Of if their hand was warm and firm on
shaking it!…
Strange how they took their lives and
drifted on—
Once they were here, but when they’re gone
they’re gone!

But other folks can leave and still remain—
Seems like their ways once loved, are here
forever;
They way they spoke or smiled is clear and plain;
their fellowship from yours no miles could
sever.
They make their place, and once they finished’
making it
There’s no erasing, blurring, not forsaking it!
Steady and clear the fires of friendship burn
That heart and hearth shall welcome their
return!