Playing catch and climbing trees,
ridings bikes and skinning knees,
the things we did those years ago,
made us friends today, I know.
Who knew then, or could’ve known,
we’d still be friends, old and grown?
Fifty years back to those days,
a glimpse, a shadow, longing gaze.
I see us then, with youthful hope,
backward through a telescope.
So far away and yet so near,
youthful faces filled with cheer.
Those simple things and simple times
forged a friendship so sublime.
We stuck it out, thick and thin,
knowing for sure where we’ve been.
Grown friends, once boys at play,
from bright dawn to dimming day,
Our lives are like that metaphor,
an open gate, a closing door.
At opposite ends of these years,
through laughter and through tears,
one long line with no ends,
we call each other our best friends.