The poem
I guess folks think I'm mighty dumb Since Jack and Jim and Joe Have hit the trail to Kingdom Come And left me here below: Since Death, the bastard, bowled them out, And left me faced with--Doubt.
My pals have all passed out on me And I am by my lone; Old Bill was last, and now I see His name cut on a stone; A marble slab, but not as fine As I have picked for mine.
I nurse and curse rheumatic pain As on the porch I sit; With nothing special in my brain I rock and smoke and spit: When one is nearing to the end One sorely needs a friend.
My Pals have gone,--in God's good earth I guess they're packed up snug, And since I have no guts for mirth I zipper to my mug: The question that I ponder on Is--where the heck they've gone?