You are not as you were before, when we were young.



You voice has grown too low and deep for me.



The laughter hangs with silent groan where we had swung



among the oaken trees, with smiles so free.



The awkward moments when we meet, replace



the toothy smile, and silly laugh that shone.



The pictures say you had a different face



not battered by the tears. But you have grown.



So sitting here, alone, I think of how



those jokes of yours have brightened eyes of mine.



With waving hands we took unguarded bow.



Atop my head was set a crown so fine.



I treasure you, dear friend, for what we share



although, I know, you won’t ever be there.