When I think about those friends I’ve met,
Each one throughout these many years,
We write our stories in dust on memories,
Tales to days for once now gone they’re rare,
As history keeps on trailing as kites beneath a sky.
So perhaps there’s something in finding them,
Those ones thought for perhaps long forgotten,
But hey, there’s still time to find a few more tales,
To paint these walls in such art to a dancing life,
Where colours to a drink of chance left wandering.
Inscribe each friend’s art on our memory’s walls.