My Hill Poem by Barry A. Lanier

Wonderful friends, O' friends of mine,
In this my tragic time.
Where did they all go?
Or were they really true friends of mine?

As my hole was dug deeper,
And I looked all around.
My best recollection,
Not five friends to be found.

Would they heed the last prayer?
Would they summon the will?
To show up and throw,
The last dirt on my hill.

As my hill sinks, and it hardens,
With passage of time.
I listen for their footsteps,
These good friends of mine.

Surely they were to busy,
Maybe preoccupied with self.
For sure they never heard,
About my bad health.

My hope though is eternal,
Never lost, pray never will.
Let them know when they show,
Throw the last dirt on my hill.