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.