old friends, old friends
sat on their park bench 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 set
the sounds of the city is 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
