<span style="color: #0000ff;"><em><a href="http://pigyard.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2020/01/Hepworth-WakefieldJan20.jpeg"><img class="alignright size-medium wp-image-6046" src="http://pigyard.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2020/01/Hepworth-WakefieldJan20-300x225.jpeg" alt="" width="300" height="225" /></a>Old friends</em></span>
<span style="color: #0000ff;"><em>Winter companions, the old men</em></span>
<span style="color: #0000ff;"><em>Lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sunset</em></span>
<span style="color: #0000ff;"><em>The sounds of the city sifting through trees</em></span>
<span style="color: #0000ff;"><em>Settle like dust</em></span>
<span style="color: #0000ff;"><em>On the shoulders of the old friends</em></span>
<span style="color: #0000ff;"><em>Can you imagine us years from today</em></span>
<span style="color: #0000ff;"><em>Sharing a park bench quietly?</em></span>
<span style="color: #0000ff;"><em>How terribly strange to be seventy</em></span>

Last week I met with my college friends who I have known for over 50 years. Apart from my brother, who I have known all my life, these are people who knew me when I was in my late teens and have kept in touch ever since. I haven't kept in contact with anyone from my school days.