In this great city that has no end;
Yet days go by and weeks rush on
And, before I know it, a year is gone.
And I never see my old friend's face,
For life is a swift and terrible race.
He knows I like him just as well
As in the days I rang his bell
And he rang mine. We were younger then
And now we are busy, tired old men.
Tired of playing a foolish game,
Tired of trying to make a name.
"Tomorrow," I say, "I will call on Jim
Just to show that I'm thinking of him"
But tomorrow comes and tomorrow goes
And the distance between us grows and grows.
Around the corner, yet miles away,
"Here's a telegram sir." "Jim died today."
And that's what we get and deserve in the end.
Around the corner, a vanished friend.
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| Early 1900 Postcard |
