A friendship of two, tired old men
Forged not of a political union,
Nor defined in religious terms,
Not steeped in intellectual ken,
Their task a gentle understanding
Shared long after limbs easily move
Delineated in time merely as
As ink baptizing blank paper
Sometimes subtle emotions deeply held.
On occasion tart, stark realities
Spilled onto paper willy nilly ---
The whining of impending death
In ink sprinkled unto paper
Maybe etched into eternity
As a muse to future poets.