Old Friends
Old friends, old friends,

Sat on their parkbench like bookends

A newspaper blown through the grass
on Falls the round toes

of 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
Settles like dust on the shoulders of the old friends

Can you imagine us years from today,

Sharing a parkbench quietly

How terribly strange to be sevent

Old friends, memory brushes the same years,
Silently sharing the same fears