The body, like a book that you have borrowed,
Is something to respect and then return.
For those left behind, for the family and friends
What will become of a life at its end?
What will be the measure of my days, my weeks, my years?
What will be the value of my happiness and fears?
What will people think of me, what’s left of me to give,
What will be the measure of a life well lived?
Not how much I gained, but that I would not ask for more
Not what I believed, but the things that I stood up for,
Not the things I bought, but the things I gave for free
And not the things I learnt, but what people learnt from me.
Not my memories faded, but that people know I cared,
And not the things we lose, but the things that are still there.
Not the way I looked, but the smile upon my face
In our memories together, and in love’s saving grace.
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