Old Friend

Old Friend Well, old friend, the gate hinge is creaky and caked with rust from too many selfish tears embedded in the crust. Try the gate, if you will, old friend, but I do doubt it shall yield to your touch and let the bitter out. And the well, old friend, now echoes from stony depths; the emptiness therein hastened by greedy lips. Let down the pail, old friend, and expect then the worst of finding you must go elsewhere to slake your thirst. And the windows, old friend, are grimy, sooty panes unwashed by caring hands nor baptized by the rains. Peer, old friend, if you can into that murky room. The warm glow of past brilliance is replaced by haunting gloom. The gate, well, and glass, old friend, once so new, deep, and bright, are rusty, dry, and dim in today's failing light. Thus, old friend, the decay has exacted its hoary toll and laid its heavy hand upon this jaded soul.