Perhaps when your time is nearly come,
you will finally rest your white head
and we will have time to talk.
I will lay beside you on an outspread quilt
dappled with the sun.
We will both be old.
I will make sandwhiches
while you eat cheese, and we will talk earnestly of love
and loss and the worship of the abstract, and we will talk just as earnestly about
soccer and memories and the proper way to eat a steak.
There will be laughter and
nothing will interupt us there, on the brink of eternity,
except maybe the skyline-sighting of a hawk
or a soft song of silence.
we are friends, you & I.
No comments:
Post a Comment