To some, the dead must seem like objects,
Things with no consciousness, now defunct,
But the dead have character that's still visible;
Lines and wrinkles deep imprint.

The dead have loved one's quiet tears,
Late at night or in the day,
They hold a place at memorys altar-
Smiles and laughter, now so rare.

Empty husks, though they may be,
They keep the secrets of someone dear;
Secrets never compromised-
No matter how near, no matter how far.

Patti Masterman

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/no-matter-how-far-2/