Poetry can be a Comfort

This poem was sent to me by my sweet cousin Sundey.  A friend of hers had suffered a loss and put this poem on facebook.  She wanted to be sure I saw it because of my recent losses.  I think I'll make a copy to take to my granddaughters too.  Thank you Sundey.  I'm sorry for your friend's loss. 


Death is Nothing at All


by Henry Scott Holland (1847-1918) Canon of St. Paul's Cathedral sometimes referred to as 'What is Death?'



Death is nothing at all.

I have only slipped away into the next room.

I am I and you are you.

Whatever we were to each other,

that we still are.



Call me by my old familiar name.

Speak to me in the easy way

which you always used.

Put no difference in your tone.

Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.



Laugh as we always laughed

at the little jokes we enjoyed together.

Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.

Let my name be ever the household word

that it always was.

Let it be spoken without affect,

without the trace of a shadow on it.



Life means all that it ever meant.

It is the same that it ever was.

There is absolutely unbroken continuity.

Why should I be out of mind

because I am out of sight?



I am waiting for you,

for an interval,

somewhere very near,

just around the corner.



All is well.