Old Friends/Bookends

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 sunset 
The sounds of the city sifting through trees 
Settle 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
it was
A time of innocence
a time of confidences.

Long ago 
it must be
I have a photograph
preserve your memories
they're all that's left you.

-Paul Simon