They lay well hid from searching eyes,
Obscured by underbrush;
Their spent demeanour scarce belies
Yon halcyon days of rush.
Black high-heeled had good tales to tell
Of beaux and belles and beds;
Of reds and whites and zinfandel,
Never a path to dread.
Bald tongueless gaped in wide-eyed glee,
Dreaming of yesteryear;
A roaming rambler, life’s debris,
Never without good cheer.
Here in this final resting place,
Two disparate paths converged;
Acceptant of their fates with grace,
Let them now be submerged.
The One, danced and danced…
The Other walked and walked….
©Mindful Musings 2013