Ghosts of Dead Friends
voices laughing in my head
behind my dreaming vision
long past life and yet not dead
with friendly mock derision
they call to me as I awake
in wee small hours of morning
wry full glances secret smiles
and words that die aborning
absent minded days of week
slip into working hours
and cause a tear to wet a cheek
in memories of ours
It’s touch and go
and such a flow
of rushing wishing after
A jolt a jerk I’m back to work
in echoes of their laughter
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