My friends
we will gather again
and speak to
the russet glow we share,
our greying growing hair,
and seek to
salute the past with grace,
and then
share our fire and follies;
show photos
of those who went before,
of those who’re coming after,
sons, daughters,
our triumphs and our glories;
make amends
for sharp words half-forgotten,
give peace to
this world in disrepair
the ever-heating air
where, brief though
life may be, the beauty is we were
such friends.
