He Is Not Dead, He Is Just

As One Who Cons At Evening O'er An Album All Alone, And Muses On The Faces Of The Friends That He Has Known, So I Turn The Leaves Of Fancy, Till In Shadowy Design I Find The Smiling Features Of An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.

Just A Wee Cot-the Crickets Chirr-love And The Smiling Face Of Her.

Tell You What I Like The Best - 'long About Knee-deep In June, 'bout The Time Strawberries Melts On The Vine, - Some Afternoon Like To Jes' Git Out And Rest, And Not Work At Nothin' Else!

O'er Folded Blooms On Swirls Of Musk, The Beetle Booms Adown The Glooms And Bumps Along The Dusk.

Think Of Him Still As The Same, I Say, He Is Not Dead, He Is Just - Away.