Email Poem

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Poem

Don, not the one on the trombone, 
Though you could spin a ball 
Cool as him. The big stone 
Where we sit watching the rain fall 
Is it still there? I need 
A rock stronger than that one, 
When the gold leaves become weed 
Wet and smudgy as the homehill pond 
Is that where they found the Dragon 
Dead? Our days have changed nothing 
But we are changed. The bond 
For the old gang is stil sweet in 
My heart, Kenly, Juksweet, Young, 
Gary, Comfy, Buffat with the spin 
On facts only your lung 
Could breathe. Dave and I are here 
But I never see him, I think 
Of V and Lorna there, 
In that little world that even more we shrink 
By travelling to bigger loneliness, and countries 
And no one understand. How I want 
To come back with better stories
Than before, and hear you laugh for free
In the sand bed theatre of life's comedy.
I would not measure friendship by our bond today
Yet though its love is guinep stain
All that memory of Dredge, and the pounding rain
We built this with our hands, it will not go away.

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