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First Line: Old friends are but a graveyard
Last Line: That I should have outgrown so many things.
Alternate Author Name(s): De Vito, E. B.
Subject(s): Friendship


Old friends are but a graveyard where the dead
Lie unentombed and have a final fling;
A potter's field, with gay bones bellowing
Forgotten things far better left unsaid.
Yesterday is a hearty corpse, well fed;
An old lover; a long outmoded thing;
And yet persistently re-echoing
An existence which has since been shed.

Today I go serenely on my way
Until a face looms from the past; I greet
Not just this friend, but all of yesterday --
A kiss, a tear, a triumph or defeat.
Oh God! It seems more strange with passing Springs
That I should have outgrown so many things.





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