When your father's ghost came round,
you bade him to please stay,
but he just slipped away.
You cried all night in bed,
as I held your trembling head.
I said, "You've lost too much too fast. But this too, Will pa**."
The last night when you left your old New England town,
by the cold Long Island Sound,
Your winsome voice was pinched.
When I leaned in close, you flinched.
You'd changed so much, so fast, but I thought, "This too, will pa**."
I rode down the dark street
and stopped out in the snow.
I watched my friends through their front window.
They laughed under the lights,
but I turned towards the night.
They don't know not to ask,
though this, too, will pa**.