An old friend called

An old friend called the other day to ask if I would write his last will before he slips away, He went to the doctor, but there’s not much living left to do. Life is like a vapor, a drop of morning dew. His breath draws short with each passing hour, time is fleeting like a tender budding flower. I can still hear the ancient pines sway along Shepherd’s Lane. That old stone road still remains the same. Time marches on as this world slowly turns, our love blown away by the wind’s harsh and stinging burn…