𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐃𝐚𝐲
I worked with a man who was young and smart;
He was honest too, as the day is long.
Forty years ago did our paths then part,
And I thought forever, but I was wrong.
When I’d last known him he was straight and strong,
But the man I met on the year’s last day,
To my memories he did not belong:
He was bowed and bent and his hair was grey,
And he said as I shook his hand: “G’day”
In a feeble voice, (Oh his hand was cold),
And he gazed at me in the strangest way,
And he softly said: “Well you have grown old.”
So we reminisced, then said our goodbyes,
And he shuffled off — with his two good eyes.
— D.N. O’Brien