Old Friends

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Old gates on old fences of long ago,

are really lovely things,

like old friends.

They seem to me like old songs,

half forgotten,

coming back to haunt me,

as i walk within the quiet

desert heat of a dream.

By the old gardens,

so sweet with flowery perfume,

old gates and old fences,

are like old faces we have known,

of loved ones gone before.

Yet, they are ever with us,

like ardent, youthful valentines

that are old now,

yet dearly prized as keepsakes,

mostly for ourselves alone.

Yet, when summer smiles

above a garden's hedge,

old gates are like

mute symphonies,

that lift up from the

carefully tended shrubs,

and softly fade away

into fragrant dreams.

In my dreams i can see them now,

all the old, old gates,

on all the old, old fences,

as we walked

hand in hand by them.

This work by mysticdave is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.