The Fifty-Year Reunion
The fifty-year reunion
Was a time of deepest grief—
Some classmates couldn’t make it,
For they’d fallen like a leaf.
But others showed up eager
To shake hands and flash a smile
At classmates they had not seen
For more than quite a while.
Their talk was small and aimless,
And some people would not say
What was really on their minds—
Didn’t matter anyway,
For at the stroke of midnight
All the oldsters shuffled out,
Relieved the farce was over:
Nothing to write home about.
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “Reunions”