Paul Simon wrote of Old Friends
Sitting on a bench like bookends
Is that how it ends my old friend?
Do we sit there: so very much the same?
Are we so similar then? Like bookends?
I suppose our hair is all grey
Our smiles: become wrinkled
Our eyes become dim!
Our coats cover our thin bent frames
We become the same in our thoughts
Our memories: similar too!
Yes! Old friends are like bookends!
We hold between us our memories!
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