• Before, in our youth, there was a small spring.
    It kept our friendship as it flowed between.
    But time pressed on, that industrious thing,
    And took that life away to depths unseen!

    The chasm is spreading wider dear friend!
    Desperation, in my heart, is sowing.
    I call to you upon a listless wind,
    “Can’t you see it? Don’t you see it’s growing?”

    I see you less and less as time goes by;
    I reach for you but you’re no longer there.
    I build a bridge where the spring used to lie,
    where it has left its bed so cracked and bare.

    The chasm is spreading wider dear friend!
    Desperation, in my heart, is sowing.
    I call to you upon a swelling wind,
    “Can’t you see it? Don’t you see it’s growing?”

    What was a ditch now widens so much more.
    The bridge, raised with such care, finally falls.
    I watch as new interests crowd your shore
    and, skilled brick-layers, they build the walls.

    The chasm is spreading wider dear friend!
    Desperation, in my heart, is sowing.
    I call to you upon a roaring wind,
    “Can’t you see it? Don’t you see it’s growing?”

    I turn to see that I have also changed.
    That field of blossoms, now a desert dry,
    does not scare me. As if all were arranged,
    and life just is, with no more need to cry.

    The chasm has spread its widest friend.
    The desperation in my heart has reaped.
    I hear a voice within the shifting wind,
    “Differing age is where the spring first seeped.”

    No harm was meant. I know and understand.
    Yes, time pressed on, that industrious thing.
    It has made life again a thriving land,
    and the winds of change give new cause to sing.

    But know my love for you is just the same.
    Open arms wait here if ever you came!