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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