Nothing Lasts Forever, Not Even November Rain
Nothing lasts forever,
not even November rain.
Not even the tired old bodies
we are given to hold.
I remember how we spoke
to one another,
way back, a long time ago.
Pontificating like priests
delivering our sermons.
We were boys, though
we thought ourselves men.
Ready to challenge and embrace
everything we had been taught.
How could we ever imagine
that real would be so difficult?
Aging. Living. Dying.
Sometimes,
when it is very dark outside,
I am with you again.
Innocent in our importance.
Immortal without a thought.
It is different now.
Understandable.
We have aged.
This is as it must be.
You'll be one of my pallbearers.
Isn't that a boggling thought?
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