Old friends are but a graveyard where the dead Lie unentombed and have a final fling; A potter's field, with gay bones bellowing Forgotten things far better left unsaid. Yesterday is a hearty corpse, well fed; An old lover; a long outmoded thing; And yet persistently re-echoing An existence which has since been shed. Today I go serenely on my way Until a face looms from the past; I greet Not just this friend, but all of yesterday -- A kiss, a tear, a triumph or defeat. Oh God! It seems more strange with passing Springs That I should have outgrown so many things. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FUNERAL by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE BALLAD OF PROSE AND RHYME by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON H. BAPTISME (2) by GEORGE HERBERT A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING by JOHN SUCKLING PRAYER FOR A CITY CHILD by DOROTHY P. ALBAUGH THERE IS NOTHING STRANGE by ARCHILOCHUS |