Old friends, old friends, 

Sat on their parkbench like bookends 

A newspaper blown through the grass 

Falls on 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 seventy



Old friends, memory brushes the same years, 

Silently sharing the same fears



Time it was and what a time it was,

A time of innocence,

A time of confidences,

Long ago it must be,

I have a photograph,

Preserve your memories,

Ther all thats left you...