My Three Friends.
In the valley of Used-to-be,
There were three good friends that I used to know
Who have wandered away from me.
One was buried when life was young__
His grave is far from me;
And one I lost by a slandering tongue,
And one crossed over the sea.
And now as I sit in my room alone,
They live in my memory;
And I wonder if any that I have known
Do ever remember me.
But one passed over the river of death,
And one crossed over the sea,
And one I lost by a venemous breath__
And all have forgotten me.
__Albert Bigelow Paine.