I have a friend ten years younger
To whom her doctor said
(Yesterday, I learned) “I give you
Approximately five years.”

Perhaps for good behavior, it seems
She will be getting out a good deal sooner than I.
Perhaps foolishly, I envy her that. I muse:
On her way out, what may she see?

Now will native plants, on one of her walks,
Say how much they appreciate
How she has always looked them in the face
With something of a real smile on hers

While many other humans pass by,
Unnoticing? It may be
She will more and more look
And see that things are

Relatively good
Now that she has been told
About how long
It will take

For her to get to where we all
Are headed – while I
(It could happen)
May live to a hundred

Not in solitary confinement
Yet imprisoned
And very much missing
Having her about.