Old friends, old friends,
connecting through the years,
through the tears and fears of yesterdays.
Memories shared and compared to the days they
sat on their park bench like bookends.

A newspaper blown through the grass
time-stamping the miles of laughter and smiles,
a random tumble of disappointments and joys.
Just a couple of the boys watching as a windblown leaf
falls on the round toes of the high shoes

of the old friends. Old friends,
linked from their “springs”
until their rapidly fading Decembers,
they’ll remember their days as
winter companions, the old men

lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sun,
for their days grow shorter
and a last, long lasting look at the world
is all their time can demand. In the distance,
the sounds of the city sifting through trees

settles like dust on the shoulders of the old friends,
We will all return one day, as old dust,
airborne and free, seeing the world
and landing, not demanding anything, no more time.
Can you imagine us years from today?

Sharing a park bench quietly
we will sit and reminisce, with misted memories
filling us full, but us not feeling fulfilled.
Only our friendship will remain, our sad refrain:
How terribly strange to be seventy.

Old friends,
memory brushes the same years,
silently sharing the same fears.

© Walter J. Wojtanik

*Italicized blue sections are the lyrics of Simon And Garfunkel’s – Old Friends

“Love / Anti-Love” Poem


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