We talked for a week in the canyon,
Our words pouring out like a stream.
Oh, my friendly companion,
I’m calling you into my dream.
Our children ran circles around us,
A laugh like a ghost in the air
As we spoke of the lovers who’d found us
And the lives that awaited us there.
We lived our high time on the mountain,
And we spent our long hours down below.
Now when it’s lost things I’m counting,
You’re always the last one to go.
I left with my head filled with stories
To work on at night when I sleep,
And the thought that the river of friendship
Is as long as it’s rocky and deep.
March 1979