Burt Rory(Inspired By Richard Cory) Poem by Billy Loving

A fine young gent was he
His happiness everyone could see
Leaving every day
Going merrily about his way

In the evening to return
Nothing to discern
His contentment he'd show
The sorrow none would know

Daily leaving, he'd quit
His neighbors watch and sit
Day after day
No journey on his brief foray

Not seen in so long
Tense neighbors, something wrong
They'd knock at the door
The tapping he'd ignore

No smoke from the chimney, dead of winter
Finally his house they'd enter
What would they see?
A gent as frozen as can be

Shot through the head
By one piece of lead
Life, no longer to be
A dead young gent, his neighbors would see