I ran across this in my meanderings. What we used to call found poems. I’m just going to post it and say nothing more.

Be and be better. For they existed.
And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.

― Maya Angelou