He was a friend of mine and I never asked him to buy life insurance
because I didn’t want him to think I was the kind of the person
who would use friendship for personal gain.
He was a friend of mine and when he married I was glad.
Because I knew his wife too, and I knew they were the kind of people
who deserved all the good things in life that a happy marriage brings.
He was a friend of mine and when the baby came along a year or so ago,
I was awfully proud and happy for them. But I never told him how
he could help assure his child’s education.
He was a friend of mine and when I attend the house warming
in his new home six months later, I thought about mentioning
mortgage insurance, but I decided to wait until he had a change
to catch up with all his new expenses.
He was a friend of mine and his car missed the curved in the storm last
night, I was the first one his widow called.
Day after tomorrow I’ll be standing beside my friend’s grave
and I’ll still be trying to rationalize my failure to even talk to him
about life insurance. I’ll be thinking, too, even more
bitterly than I am now, about the staggering
price his family paid for my false pride and foolish sensitivity.
But most of all, I’ll be wandering when the time comes to pay my last
respects if he could speak, would he say of me as I do of him,
“He was a friend of mine”
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