Old Friends, Old Friends
Sat on their park bench
Like bookends.
A newspaper blow 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 sun.
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 fears

Time it was and what a time it was.
It was a time of innocence,
A time of confidences.
Long ago it must be,
I have a photograph,
Preserve your memories,
They're all that's left you.