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They placed him in a
grave below,
In field of frozen ice and snow,
Just one of many in a row,
But no one cared,
And those who lowered him that day,
Just stood and stared.
A man with so much to atone,
He walked the streets and died alone,
Reduced to only flesh and bone,
With spirit gone,
And in his stead a marker placed,
Upon the lawn.
A tragic end for one so
young,
Just buried there like common dung,
And not a prayer or hymn was sung,
And no one came,
To pay respects or place a rose,
It's such a shame.
His children said he wasn't kin,
Because he lived a life of sin,
And smelled of whiskey, rum and gin,
A hardened bum,
Embarrassed by the way he was,
They thought him scum.
So now he lies down
there below,
In field of frozen ice and snow,
Just one of many in a row,
An awful state,
A victim of his circumstance,
His final fate.
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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