Will There Be Spring?
Will there be spring when I am gone?
Will apple blossoms bloom?
Will bobwhite shed his heavy gloom,
And dandelions fill the lawn,
When I am gone?
Will there be spring when I am dust?
Will daffodils yet try
To fill the fields beneath the sky,
When pen and sword have gone to rust,
As go they must?
There will be spring when I have died,
For life must roll along,
So I have filled the air with song
Of joyous laughter, love and pride—
That will abide.