To Keith Bickerstaffe

The face like an old sailor hugs the eye Something deep and erudite there The white hairs say the man did sigh But for what does not now appear Let me tell my own story with it, friend. Poet of young hearted nature ringing Whimsical and erudite from beginning Yours words like Wordsworth still ascend. O let us keep with our hearts more than men Two old poets washed up by the tides Seaweeds telling myth till the time's yarns end Us, carnal dreamers with stars as brides Hey, I salute you ... brother in writing, I Remember we held this friendship long Ago, but claiming it again fear the song That death may wreath us with, and you After me, or I before, alone must rue How time has harvested us for truth And stripped us leafless of our youth May our words win us laurels in the sky.