Old Bob

I guess folks think I'm mighty dumb
  Since Jack and Jim and Joe
Have hit the trail to Kingdom Come
  And left me here below:
Since Death, the bastard, bowled them out,
  And left me faced with--Doubt.
My pals have all passed out on me
  And I am by my lone;
Old Bill was last, and now I see
  His name cut on a stone;
A marble slab, but not as fine
  As I have picked for mine.

I nurse and curse rheumatic pain
  As on the porch I sit;
With nothing special in my brain
  I rock and smoke and spit:
When one is nearing to the end
  One sorely needs a friend.

My Pals have gone,--in God's good earth
  I guess they're packed up snug,
And since I have no guts for mirth
  I zipper to my mug:
The question that I ponder on
  Is--where the heck they've gone?

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