Old Friend

Nearly fifty years ago His life came to its end And I lost a much loved And respected old friend. Born cruelly disabled, Paralysed by surgical knife, A calculated risk in the hope Of a more normal life. Enjoy your life The surgeon had said, It won’t be for long, And you’re a long time dead. A bon viveur and raconteur He spun many a fine tale Enthroned in his wheel chair Clasping his pint of real ale. At first on foot, taxi or train Latterly in the car of the day We wandered and forged Our merrily desperate way. A sudden blink of fate And Old Hawkins was gone Still only in his thirties As time, uncaring, moved on. I cried at his funeral. His loss twisting like a knife, Celebrating the memory of His short but well lived life.