Ashes of soft shadows


Isn’t he still alive under the earth, when the harmony of daylight does not reach him, if he can still, with sad and tender thoughts, arouse it in the mind of those who love him? It is divine, this dialogue of love, a divine gift in human beings; for often through it we live with a friend passed away, and he with us, if the merciful earth that once nurtured his childhood, offers the last refuge in her maternal womb, protecting his remains from all the insults of the wheather, and from profaning footsteps, a stone preserves his name, a friendly tree, whose flowers grace the air with a sweet scent, covers his ashes with its gentle shadow.


Ashes of soft shadows

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