Poets and Our Camraderie: a Discourse
December is cold without my friends, I need
To ladle from their words laughter like soup
And from full remembrance of their love feed
My imagination, embracing the sweet, little loop
Of family. O for we have cried in songs together
And laugh with pain in every cyclone of weather
And we have kissed each other's joy, for truth
Is ever the gardener of our gifts and fertile root.
I will not talk of missing days of solace now, here
Love speaks in every tongue of joy, but will embrace
Those whose messages in my absence told care
Their hearts the tolling fingers my beady blindness taste
Each time I come to sup at kindred table. No creed,
Or race here, for all our difference sweet loves exceed
And we are one where the word throbs like flesh
Butterflies threshing fragile wings against granite mesh.
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