I cast my eyes upon the rain;
Only to be reminded of pain.
Pain not only of heart, but of mind;
Pain of health would be more kind.
The pain I have is of a far remembrance;
The type man hath fought with much resistance.
‘Tis not a tale of gold or wealth;
But of a friend I lost, whom was in bad health.
His name was never cast upon an ear;
O, my lost friend, ‘twas more than appeared.
He was outgoing, exploring new frontiers;
It is sad, in that, his alibi has smeared.
Our conversations lasted longer than some dying ember;
A bitter detail from his last September.
His passing was of one expected;
Nothing but a memory, recollected.
He was quite ill, there was no cure;
Spent his last days upon a moor.
With rope in hand, head held high;
He never even said goodbye.
