To Old Friends

The party seems still to be going on-
Perhaps a few had noticed I was gone-
Just one amongst the endless throng-
A fading voice in memory.
The music still plays sweet and sad-
And all the dancers- good and bad-
Both the sane and the mad-
Is there room yet on the dance floor for me?
And so the seasons flow and turn-
Full of lessons I have still to learn-
No clarion-call for my return-
From foggy reverie.
And armed with new tales to tell-
Thus returns this prodigal-
As grizzled monk to vesper bell-
Is there welcome here for me?