friends.. a poem

By Charles Swain

lifes winter brought its betrayal and sadness
left me weary
made me wither, withdraw
Doubt Id ever have a joy or gladness

I wanted to gain a special prize,
A precious gift that had eluded me.
Hidden from me and fled,
Melted oft before my eyes

I reached for it ,away it went
Till I was wont to reach no more,
but still its seed stayed alive
Tho dormant , seeming spent.

Thru barren winter cold and sour
I hid neath ground, unable and
uninclined to see,
That with the sun of spring may come the power.

Then one day in human form and suit
Came rays of hope small sun beams
Which gently played around and warmed the earth
And slowly faith did sprout and trust did reshoot.

A plant still spindly maybe, but the gardners tend,
And give me room and place to grow.
I know now that Im finding those missing gifts
Put simply they're called friends.


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  • Previous Poem: Old Man by Alexander Pushkin