gkpoetry

Across the sea my friend was slowly dying.
Around and through a cancer fed and spread.
I knew that soon the –ing would change to –ed.

Not cured, though he had for months been trying,
We knew the time had come to reminisce
About the fun events which made our list.

A crowning glow low moods were clearly craving.
A looming specter dark and serious,
His coming death remained imperious.

And now indeed the –ing has changed to –ed.
My lovely Irish Skerries friend is dead.

Old high school friends of fifty years or more
Do congregate each year at warm spring shores
To watch their team, to talk baseball, perhaps
To recollect a youth already lapsed.

The fleeting days of a week go quickly by,
An anecdotal tear might gleam in their eyes.
They’re glad to be at inning seven’s stretch,
Though glory is no longer theirs to catch.

Yet hope springs at the stadium again,
From the young family of their late friend.
With smiles and cheers these seniors feel renewed,
This constant game inspires old fans anew.