Are these photographs of strangers?
Near old men sitting chatting there;
One of them is even trapped smiling
from his lightweight invalid chair.
And most of them are bald,
one or two with walking sticks;
are these my photographs,
is my mind playing tricks?
But if I look more closely
I can so easily see
one of those near old men
is almost certainly me.
So I just close my eyes,
erase those passed years,
and suddenly, miraculously,
it's young voices that I hear.
These strangers in these photographs
are all friends from my past.
and after so many years
all together again at last,
to relive past occasions
incidents from our shared youth;
and who cares if now and then
we speak fishermen's' truth.
As we reclimb old mountains,
recall conquests and defeats
each tale maybe growing stronger
from it's constant tall repeats.
and knowing smiles of recollection
So much time has flowed and moved on.
No these aren't photographs of strangers.
just those of friends from days long gone.