BALLADE OF DEAD FRIENDS
Man forever yearns
For the thing that's flying.
Everywhere he turns,
Men to dust are drying,—
Dust that wanders, eying
(With eyes that hardly glow)
New faces, dimly spying
For friends that come and go.
ENVOY
And thus we all are nighing
The truth we fear to know:
Death will end our crying
For friends that come and go.
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