Like puffs of smoke old friends now disappear;
They drift upon the wind and then are gone,
Dispatched, perhaps, to scout some new frontier,
While I, bereft, can only journey on.

Each waking night I vainly call the roll;
I summon Tom and Wayne and Jim and John;
When comes no word, no answer to console,
I breathe a toast, then sadly journey on.

For who can say how far we have to go?
The master plan unfolds as it was drawn;
The ending is not given us to know,
To find our fate we all must journey on.

It matters not how many friends we've known,
We travel life increasingly alone.

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