The Die We'Ve Cast

A friend you meet in middle age Of course has his own history Which possibly will stay imbued With some degree of mystery. We form our judgments from the facts We have in our possession And how a person looks and acts Determines our impression. But sometimes we may get a glimpse Of someone’s early years And discover that he once was not The way he now appears. For age and illness take their tolls On all of us, and yet, Within us still exists that self New friends have never met. A photo or a story somehow Conjured from the past Makes us realize that there’s so much more Beneath the die we’ve cast.