The Man Without a Friend
There was a house upon a hill
Above a bay, beneath the sky
Within which lived a man who cried
Because he had no friends.
He'd tap his stick upon the floor
Within his barren corridor
And there, upon his rocking chair,
He'd lose his hair.
Beyond the trees, alive in day,
The restless beauty of the bay
Was evident to all but him
This lonely man without a friend.
And seldom did he move outside
Too often would his thoughts collide
And leave him misty on the street
Where all the living humans meet.
His happiness was all behind
Instead, he sat inside and cried.
And none would enter through that door.
The telephone upon the floor
Had ceased top ring two years before
When Emily had died.
And so he cried and cried and cried
Until his feeble body dried
And then he died
Within the house upon the hill
Above the bay, beneath the sky.
A note was found upon his chest
Which smelt of death
I have known the best
I have seen the rest
The best has left
What is left
Is the rest.
Poor poetry on which to end
Sad, lonely man without a friend.