William Cook

William Cook

15th October 1943 - 27th October 2007
Add to this grove

I'm gone now, but I'm still very near.

Death can never separate us.

Each time you feel a gentle breeze, it's my hand caressing your face.

Each time the wind blows, it carries my voice whispering your name.

When the wind blows your hair ever so slightly, think of it as me pushing a few stray hairs back in place.

When you feel a few raindrops fall on your face, it's me placing soft kisses.

At night look up in the sky and see the stars shining so brightly.

I'm one of those stars and I'm winking at you and smiling with delight.

For never forget you're the apple of my eye.

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07/05/2008