«******»

He never came to me when i would call...
unless i had a tennis ball or he felt like it,
but mostly he didn't come at all...
and before very long he'd tire of the ball,
he be asleep in his corner in no time at all...

He would wake up at night,
and he would have this fear of the dark,
of life, of lots of things.
He'd be glad to have me near...

And there are nights when i think i feel that stare...
I reach out my hand to stroke his hair,
but he's not there.

How i wish that wasn't so, i'll always love,
A friend named ******.












RIP 1994.02.21