I sat beneath the sycamore tree
And waited
While the wind whistled by
Humming through the branches
Sighing with the quiet strength
of an old
friend
I waited until the sun sank low
Beyond the far horizon
Its golden beams showering the land
with one
last kiss
I watched the gentle brook
As it rippled past my feet
Whispering words of encouragement
and
endearment to me
I waited, but my friends did not come
They were gone long ago
But sometimes still I pause
And think of them
And know that I am not the only one
who
remembers them