Lone Kid On The Block Poem by Robert Winthrop

I just saw in the paper that a friend of mine had died;
I had not seen him for some time, but still I nearly cried.
I thought of days when we were kids and every summer's day
I'd go and ask his mother if he could come out and play.

Sometimes she'd say, 'No, Johnny can't. He has to do his chores.'
So I'd pitch in and help him mow the lawn or sweep the floors.
Somedays it seemed that not a kid could come outdoors to play
And so I'd amble down the street, alone the live-long day.

Sometimes I thought the world was dead or I was on the moon.
When no kids could come out and play, I'd hum some mournful tune.
I'd kick a can or throw a rock and scare a bird or two;
The only kid out on the street, bereft the whole day through.

When we grew up, I'd ask John's wife if he could play some golf.
Sometimes she'd give him 'honey-do's' before we could take off.
The years flew by; we found new friends and moved quite far away.
Our children's friends came to our doors to ask if they could play.

Each year it seems that one more friend is gone, has passed away.
I think that our Creator has asked them out to play.
And as I hear of one more gone, I feel the same old shock
The emptiness sweeps over me, the lone kid on the block.