I weave the shroud of aches that last
With the threads of friendships past
My ocean remains so deep
In the remnants of the words I choose to keep
I collect the smiles from lips I see no more
Left to wonder where to implore
Another thread has come to edge
The end and exit
from the stage
No longer do they open doors
Nor leave a shadow upon my floor
No there no longer comes those knocks
As if the hands have stopped upon the clocks
So in my mental loom of care
I leave another row of thread with much more room to spare

They will bury me in my shroud
Someday sunny, perhaps in cloud
And I will be richer beyond the grave
In the memories of friends that I have made