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How terribly strange ...

Simon turns 70, and we get older, too

Old friends, old friends,
Sat on their parkbench like bookends
A newspaper blown through the grass
Falls on the round toes
of the high shoes of the old friends
Old friends, winter companions, the old men
Lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sunset
The sounds of the city sifting through trees
Settles like dust on the shoulders of the old friends.
Can you imagine us years from today,
Sharing a parkbench quietly
How terribly strange to be seventy
How terribly strange.
The terribly strange came to pass this past week, as Paul Simon, the songwriter and performer that many ...

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