Under the flickering street light,
we wished each other a good night.
Words we may have wanted to say
could always wait another day.
There would always be enough time,
we were kids, alive, in our prime,
never thinking we would grow old,
or maybe we did, but never told.
Then one night, the corner was bare,
and then the next, still no one there.
An old man, musing on the past,
(when any day could be my last):
Tomorrows are not imminent,
but our yesterdays, infinite