The wind carries away the dust,
and there is nothing more to see.

Once so proud, but now nothing more,
the back of you is lost.

The memory is all that remains,
and maybe it's for the best.

As we now walk past, the sound of you passes.
But the last echo of a tune is still there,
so without hesitation in my voice and without sorrow,
I once again open my mouth for the sad and the dead.

The tribute of you is once again on my mind,
and my mind screams.

But not for the dead, but for those left behind.

Martin Holm Sjölin

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/those-left/