The End of the Driveway
CONSIDER how I saw three men the other day,
Standing at the end of a driveway.
Supervising the road work being done-
Trucks, equipment, asphalt by the ton.
No hard hats did these three wear –
No colorful vest or badges bear.
Only bystanders, ordinary citizens they;
Giving free advice and having their say.
One pointed and motioned with his hand;
He seemed to question the wisdom of the plan.
Another scratched his head and walked around.
As the workers smiled through all the sound.
Stopped in traffic, as I was that day,
I pondered what brought them to that driveway.
There was something special about those three.
Yes, of course, longtime friends they surely must be.
Well past the age when most folks retire,
Brimmed hats and baggy pants were their attire.
Two walked freely about on their own;
One leaned on a walker, standing alone.
Two came to be with a friend that day,
If only to visit and walk the driveway.
They came because they truly cared,
For a friend whose life they long had shared.
Little league ball and playing chase,
Shooting marbles and winning a race;
Taking a blood oath ne’er to kiss girls,
Then fighting over Mary with long dark curls.
Graduating together and soon engaged,
Getting married, World War II, barely of age;
Coming home, raising families, each a career,
Though apart, still in touch, for year after year.
Now at last all together again in one place,
How good it felt to be out of the “rat race.”
To enjoy life as God must have meant it to be,
Friends to the end, always these three.
Fishing and golfing, they’d had so much fun,
Gardening, and grandkids, always on the run;
They’d been inseparable throughout the years,
During times of laughter and times of tears.
Then one had a stroke or something I’d say,
That’s how it appeared to me that day.
But friends are friends, that’s always the way –
Even if it’s just to the end of the driveway.
Rev. Wendell Mettey