He wondered where his friends had gone as he hung up the telephone
And stood in his room alone, on his eightieth birthday morn.
Old Granger wasn't there anymore, he had slipped, fallen to the floor.
They carried him out the door, leaving a wife sad and forlorn....
Granger was one of the older set, around eighty-two or so, and yet
All of them would have bet he would be among the last to go.
Granger, last time he was seen was as healthy as he had ever been;
Chiseled features, jutting chin and a ruddy outdoor's glow....
Old George was no longer at his place, had disappeared without a trace,
But he drove past his house daily just in case his friend ever showed.
All countryside, no city had begun in the days when they were young,
When tall tales were told and songs were sung on the gravel road....
Then the city began coming in, surrounding all, penning them in
Behind buildings tall and concrete walls and crime was everywhere.
They would sit in the shade and they would trade memories of when
The air was clean, the rivers clear and everyone would share....
Thru winter snow and winter ice...all things winter to be concise,
Thru summer heat and summer rain, he sought his friends all in vain.
As slowly he approached age eighty-one, time now had him on the run
In his head a doleful tune, he too would be leaving soon, a sad refrain....
