Fewer My Friends

Here are all types; no surprise in that.
To every one I'll give a hearty greeting.
Dozens and dozens with whom I might chat,
And that I look forward to some day meeting.

Fewer though, are the friends that I have found.
Some are friends whom I've never seen at all.
Yet I treasure them and hope they are around.
My conversations with them are why I call.

In just a few, I sense a kindred spirit.
I call out to them, laying bare my soul.
They may chance or choose not to hear it,
Extracting from my heart a heavy toll.

Yet to leave these friends would hurt me badly.
If occasional pain be the only price, I pay it gladly.


Writings

The Aerie

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Copyright © 1991 Richard E. Pichowsky