End of the Road
He said he was my down-the-road pal|
he being my neighbor for more than awhile.
I told him I was down the road, too
a fact he already knew.
We both sensed a truth better left unsaid—
in a fast-coming day both of us would be dead.
We talked of our youth, only miles on the road.
Even then our friendship openly showed.
I told him he had been the best kind of neighbor,
keeping me from trouble with memories to savor.
He smiled as he said I had been the same—
that he respected and honored my name.
He laughed at the time I baked him a pie.
“A least I tried,” I said with sigh.
Then there came quiet, emotions flowed,
for we both knew we were at end of the road.
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