Dead Man's Clothes

                        Dead man’s Clothes

I’m wearing some clothes from my old best friend.
He doesn’t know it, but then, at the end.
He didn’t know much as the brain tumor grew.
It spread through his mind, and the memories flew.

He was loving and kind, and a pain in the ass
As all of us can be. You just have to ask
Our wives, they will say, and it’s not very strange,
“Although I do love him, some things I would change!”

We’d talk and would share tall tales of our lives,
And sometimes shared stories about our wives,
Our hopes and fears about children and friends
And thoughts about crazy political trends

I saw him some weeks before his soul passed.  
I cried when I saw him, my old friend, at last,
With his speech nearly gone, he seemed as one drugged,
But he knew who I was, and as brothers we hugged.

I know he had lived a most hard, complex life
He loved his two daughters. He loved his dear wife.
He hunted and fished and could use many tools,
And he simply could not suffer, gladly, fools.

I think of him now, as I wear his old clothes.
Wherever he is, I hope that he knows
He lives on in the hearts of his wife, family, friends,
He is missed, he is loved, and the love never ends.