My heart feels like lead
now that my friend is dead.
Her demands to be fed
once rousted from bed.
Now I can't lift my head;
just lie weeping instead.
I know life goes on,
that there comes a new dawn,
but each morning I'm drawn
where her body has gone,
down away to my lawn…
I will go there anon.
How selfish I feel
as I spew out this spiel,
but Lord, how I reel
when we can't share a meal.
To her grave do I steal.
Will my heart ever heal?
Heart Like Lead
Tale Told 