He mended his socks, cooked his own food,
Even took a bath, when in the mood.
He was an old man without kith or kin,
Everyone needs company now and then.
It's been ten years since his Alice died.
Only the Lord know how hard he cried.
Friends were afraid, he'd take his life,
Especially after losing his darling wife.
He got sick and a town lady found out.
She took him food and helped him about.
On a visit, to check on the old man,
She found him dead with a gun in his hand.
He left a note tacked to the door,
Said, "I'm better dead, I can't take more."
Friends paid for everything, He had no loot.
His tombstone read, "We'll miss the old coot."
They sold his belongings and two horses he rode.
They buried him by the church down the road.
He wasn't a very friendly man but liked by all.
I hope he was friendly, when God came to call.
Willie P. 10/28/22
| 
