The Friend

Whose friend is that? I know who. Its aspect is quite downcast. It really is a tale of sorrow, I watch him scowl. I cry and say hello. He gives his friend a shake, And weeps until the tears make. The only sound's the break, Of bygone waves and big birds awake. He is good-natured and deep, But he has pledged to keep, Until then he refuses to sleep. He lies back in bed with ducts that weep. He arises from his bitter bed, With thoughts of sadness in his head, He venerates being dead. Facing the day with never-ending dread.