2017
two thousand seventeen
Twenty-Seventeen
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Upon the road
I met a man
who saw my load
and lent a hand.
His back was strong,
just so, his smile;
the road was long
but all the while
we walked the way
with stately pace,
because the day
was not a race
but proffered hours
for one another
to treasure flowers
and ask each other:
What memories
befriend your eye?
What vision frees
your heart to fly?
What hopes have you
for days to come?
What would do
when hope is numb?
At length we came
to drop the load;
we shared the same,
likewise the road,
and in the space
where partners part
had found the place
in the other's heart

where time is oath
and trust is sowed
and so were loath
to quit the road.
We walked instead
to the farthest bend
before I said,
"Farewell my friend."

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