In the end,
when all is done,
what we're left with,
is the song we sung.
The song we sung,
is all that's left,
for loneliness to guard,
a last precious gift.
A precious gift,
is what remains,
of all the things,
shared as friends.
What we shared as friends,
are spent, are done,
it's only I
who is the lonely one.
text by stuartcturnbull picture by CDD20 via Pixabay