I wrote this over 40 years ago. ~Bob

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.