When I am old and elderly, and no longer have you friends.
How much longer, shall I have thee, before such time begins.
Memories of you begin to fade, in that of present time.
Reserved, within the hidden thoughts, of a solemn poet’s rhymes.
And oft the thoughts how lonely, and oft the tears which shed.
Pondering why only, relations are to be born, then dead.
Expands the distance soul to soul, does time, stoically without heart.
Friends who held each other close, become strangers torn apart!
Lovers’ affection wild and true who knew it mustn’t be.
Pondering, “might we meet again my love,” in all sincerity!
Which, through deeds a many, and not always a fault of their own.
Many happenings weigh on me, and relations regressed and grown.
And so departure while, not imminent and nor even a thing of fate.
With astuteness, I always must look back, on relations kept and made.
Many farewells, past given, stored away, within, each time.
Once again, reserved within the thoughts, of a poet’s solemn rhymes!
