Then suddenly, I saw, off in a corner,
An unmarked grave that never knew a mourner.
Quietly, I knelt by the mound of dirt
And I could, somehow, feel a presence of hurt.

The little old man had once been well known.
But now, no trace of love is shown
From a rich wife, who wouldn't buy a stone
Or cut the weeds that had slowly grown.

Somehow, it seems, I'm his only mourner.
I'll bet he's lonely in that old corner.
Couldn't someone show him he mattered?
Is all he has is a brick that's battered?

If they had loved him like they said they did,
Would he be in a corner, lonely and hid?
Wouldn't he have many a mourner,
'Cause I'll bet he's lonely in that old corner?