Don - Or Ducky
Don, not the one on the trombone,
Though you could spin a ball
Cool as him. The big stone
Where we sit watching the rain fall
Is it still there? I need
A rock stronger than that one,
When the gold leaves become weed
Wet and smudgy as the homehill pond
Is that where they found the Dragon
Dead? Our days have changed nothing
But we are changed. The bond
For the old gang is stil sweet in
My heart, Kenly, Juksweet, Young,
Gary, Comfy, Buffat with the spin
On facts only your lung
Could breathe. Dave and I are here
But I never see him, I think
Of V and Lorna there,
In that little world that even more we shrink
By travelling to bigger loneliness, and countries
And no one understand. How I want
To come back with better stories
Than before, and hear you laugh for free
In the sand bed theatre of life's comedy.
I would not measure friendship by our bond today
Yet though its love is guinep stain
All that memory of Dredge, and the pounding rain
We built this with our hands, it will not go away.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012
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