With the rise of each sun is a rise in despair
As I look for my friend each morn.
He is gone. He is gone,
And with him a part of me, too.
I am left wretched; my soul is depressed, forlorn.
Alone, I listen for the rhythm of his steps,
His approach to sit by my side.
He is gone. He is gone,
Replaced by a chasm of grief
As profound as this truth: My loyal friend has died.
I miss him more than story, song, or verse can tell,
More than I'd imagine or know.
He is gone, he is gone.
I remain, though no longer whole;
He's lost, taken from me, leaving me sad and low.
If I could foresee, pre-feel the pain of his loss,
Might've my love for him still grown?
He is gone. He is gone,
Yet best am I owning his love,
His loyal devotion, than to never have known.
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