A Late Visit to an Old Friend

The cranky sound of the rusty gate,
Proclaimed that I might have been too late;
In paying my visit to an old mate.
I wavered ahead to the front door;
Where the rusty lock that the house wore,
Stated that the occupants lived there no more.
I turned around, and might have thought my memory
Had tricked me in making a mistake;
But the sight of the distant blue lake,
Made it clear that none such was made.
With a heavy heart, I commenced to walk away;
When the lone sound of a crushed leaf,
(For there were many on the lawn astray)
Made me pause a moment; and look beneath,
And reflect upon my latest grief.
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