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Oh my friends, my precious friends;
In this, my tragic time.
Where did they all go?
Were they really mine?
As the dirt was dug deeper;
And as I looked all around;
To my recollection,
Not one friend to be found.
Would they heed the last prayer?
Would they summon the will?
To show up and throw;
The last dirt on my hill.
My hill sinks, and it hardens,
With the passage of time.
I listen for their footsteps,
These good friends that were mine.
Surely they were to busy,
Maybe just preoccupied with theirself.
Not to know, maybe hear;
About my bad health.
My hope is eternal, as such never lost;
And pray it never will.
Let them know that in their hearts,
When they visit my hill.
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