Craig Ferguson

I'm watching Craig Ferguson. His mother died at the beginning of the month and he dedicated tonight's show to her. At the end, he read a poem that he read at her funeral. It's so sad, but so nice.

I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white
sails to the morning breeze
and starts for the blue ocean.

She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until at length
she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sea and sky come to
mingle with each other.

Then someone at my side says,
"There, she is gone!"

"Gone where?"

Gone from my sight, that is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull and spar
as she was when she left my side.
She is just as able to bear her load
of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me, not her.

And just at the moment when someone at my side says,
"There, she is gone!"
there are other eyes watching her coming
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout,
"Here she comes!"

And that is dying.

—Henry van Dyke