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.

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