The night comes late in early June
Reinforces my gloom of heart. 
Time passes as I turn on the light
I sat here last week thinking of you
Sitting without reading, was a surprise for me
Who should I talk to? Now you are gone?
I could talk freely with you
Sit equably, while you read Sophocles' Greek.
You were alone in that fucking  house you hated
The idol of Greek friendship
Platonic and deep you never  rebuked me
Reminded me of our sometimes perfumed, past pleasure -
Our clumsiness with girls, our daring pleasures.
So much of this world is unrecognizable
to me, brought up by the Twisted Wheel
And Shudehill, theatres, pubs and those cafes that once were
The idol of Northern Soul.
We found each other again ten years ago
We took our friendship slow, bestirred by family sorrows
Family mourning, separations, feelings of age and rage,
Feelings for the dead, so little appreciated.
Enough said.