passing of a friend's dearest friend.
there's only so many places he could traverse along that road much trodden that he may miss no treasures - he shall find comfort in her whispers; she claimed her false pretense true, and if so, I should yet have caught on! much may my words be futile, misread as want for a smile, words of which she showed contempt alas a thousand songs could be sung and much of his endearment shall be ruffled off his mark and manner, yet his is an over-being watching o'er her his living a silent bearer much be missed and so passed he, son of she in the late hour of late be peace (that has held him thus far) unto him, and hers a solemn pride sung as hymn.