"Only a solitary knows the true joys of friendship. Others have their family; but to a solitary and an exile, his friends are everything." -Willa Cather

The Gift of Self

Hark; do you hear the crickets’ rhapsody, over night’s silent surrender?
Or the north wind’s weary murmur,
Enchanting the tender buds and saplings
Of nature’s sacred grove

Ave friend, to whom a heavy heart burdened
Rest with rose’s perfume and
Let the night symphony
Lift your heart and spirit high

‘To the night I whisper
Whom alone I confide within
The light is gone and loneliness comes;
How to quench my raging fire?'

The night replied;
Let your fire become an ember,
The radiant glow within
Illuminate the path before you
And remember the light

What of love’s captivation;
Thine pure first kiss and
Warming embrace
The caress of passion
And sweet aftertaste

And what of sweet glory;
Triumph and glee
Ne’r be blue, friend
To thine heart be true…

…For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning, and is refreshed.