When You And I Were Boys Old Friend
Posted: Mon Apr 04, 2016 1:03 pm
Like David this is in response to Bob's Challenge - Not sure If I posted this before or not?
WHEN YOU AND I WERE BOYS OLD FRIEND
Remember how it used to be when we were boy’s old friend,
those carefree years out in the bush; we thought they’d never end.
For you and I were best of mates and life was full of fun,
still blessed with childhood innocence we frolicked in the sun.
I cherish now those days of youth; the friendship that we shared,
the kind of crazy things we did that only young boys dared.
I still recall test matches that we used to play each week
and happy hours spent fishing for small minnows in the creek.
Too quickly youthful days passed by and soon we were young men,
those joyful times were over and our lives would start again.
We both discovered girls and then began to drift apart,
the fairer sex took precedence in matters of the heart.
Before too long you’d settled down with children on the way,
while I’d become a wanderer; I’m still the same today.
And though our bonds remained quite strong, a gulf began to grow,
we finally lost contact all those many years ago.
I’d often thought about you as I sat alone at night,
beside a warming campfire when the stars were shining bright.
My memories would focus on the story that awaits,
about two boys born in the bush who’d been the truest mates.
Soon age had slowly taken toll and we were young no more
and all that’s left were memories of youthful days before.
I know I should have kept in touch or tried to do my best,
yet when the time had come to act, I’d failed the final test.
Then came that letter from your wife to say that you were ill
and wished a final word with me; you’d sensed deaths icy chill.
I made it back to see you mate; somehow you had hung on,
a few last words about our youth, a smile, and you were gone.
While standing by your grave old friend my mind keeps drifting back,
to days of boyhood mateship, way out on that dusty track.
I hear again your laughter ringing faintly through the years
and see once more the way things were through eyes now moist with tears.
© T.E. Piggott
WHEN YOU AND I WERE BOYS OLD FRIEND
Remember how it used to be when we were boy’s old friend,
those carefree years out in the bush; we thought they’d never end.
For you and I were best of mates and life was full of fun,
still blessed with childhood innocence we frolicked in the sun.
I cherish now those days of youth; the friendship that we shared,
the kind of crazy things we did that only young boys dared.
I still recall test matches that we used to play each week
and happy hours spent fishing for small minnows in the creek.
Too quickly youthful days passed by and soon we were young men,
those joyful times were over and our lives would start again.
We both discovered girls and then began to drift apart,
the fairer sex took precedence in matters of the heart.
Before too long you’d settled down with children on the way,
while I’d become a wanderer; I’m still the same today.
And though our bonds remained quite strong, a gulf began to grow,
we finally lost contact all those many years ago.
I’d often thought about you as I sat alone at night,
beside a warming campfire when the stars were shining bright.
My memories would focus on the story that awaits,
about two boys born in the bush who’d been the truest mates.
Soon age had slowly taken toll and we were young no more
and all that’s left were memories of youthful days before.
I know I should have kept in touch or tried to do my best,
yet when the time had come to act, I’d failed the final test.
Then came that letter from your wife to say that you were ill
and wished a final word with me; you’d sensed deaths icy chill.
I made it back to see you mate; somehow you had hung on,
a few last words about our youth, a smile, and you were gone.
While standing by your grave old friend my mind keeps drifting back,
to days of boyhood mateship, way out on that dusty track.
I hear again your laughter ringing faintly through the years
and see once more the way things were through eyes now moist with tears.
© T.E. Piggott