Old Friends

Old friends,

Sat on their park bench

Like bookends.

A newspaper blown through the grass

Falls on the 'round toes

On the high shoes

Of the old friends.

Old friends.

Winter companions,

The old men

Lost in their overcoats,

Waiting for the sunset.

The sounds of the city,

Sifting through trees,

Settle like dust

On the shoulders

Of the old friends

Can you imagine us

Years from today,

Sharing a park bench quietly?

How terribly strange

To be seventy.

Old friends,

Memory brushes the same years,

Silently sharing the same fear

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