Where do they go to, the people who leave? Are they around us, in the cool evening breeze? Do they still hear us, and watch us each day? I'd like you to think of them with us that way. Where do they go to, when no longer here? I think that they stay with us, calming our fear Loving us always, holding our hands Walking beside us, on grass or on sand. Where do they go to, well it's my belief They watch us and help us to cope with our grief They comfort and stay with us, through each of our days Guiding us always through life's mortal maze.