With the encouragement of RhubarbCommando, here's the poem whose author I'd like to identify. I'm looking for this information on behalf of a French friend. She studied English 40+ years ago, and memorized the poem at the time. I have major doubts about the poetic value, but (as a favor to a friend), here it is:

Everything gone everything lost
Until I made myself stop
Made myself realize that
If people die and things change
It's all port of it
And that the worst thing to do
is to turn your face away
to hold yourself against
and not let life go flowing
through you