If you're lucky, sometime in your life

You'll meet someone honest and true

Who strikes a special chord inside

The person that is you.

You rejoice in their accomplishments,

Ache inside when they cry,

Wish you could help when they're troubled...

Without really knowing why.

You could read all the words ever printed

About friendship, from beginning to end...

But they can't fully describe the way

You care for a special friend.

So this one's for you, my special friend...

And I really don't know why

Just when we find each other

That it's time to say goodbye.

Friends by Three

Friends share in many ways.
They see things that remind them of yesterdays,
Memories stored within the heart
Whether they're near or far apart.

Laughter, hopes and dreams cross the miles,
Spill into thoughts, pour into smiles.
Layers of moments connect with the past,
Building bridges that hold friendship fast.

Fibers textured with empathy and care,
Blended by all the seasons they share,
Weaving a beautiful tapestry
Of caring and love for all to see.

by Rick Kemppainen, Paula Cautrell, and Susan Chisam

June 1987

If friendship brings such happiness,
Why does it hurt so much
for just a hug, a brief visit,
and then a "keep in touch?"

If friendship brings such joy,
Why must we live apart?
Our busy lives get in the way
Of the feelings of the heart.

If friendship brings contentment,
Why do i feel such pain
When I have to tell a friend goodbye,
And hope I will see them again?

For Mary Ann
8/16/88

Sometimes, friends turn their faces to us much like a mirror, but never their backs.
Sometimes friends aren1t friends enough to care.
Sometimes, friends use harsh words to shock us back to reality.
Sometimes friends aren't friends enough to try.
Sometimes, friends let us get out on a ledge but they always.
always
call us back from the edge.
Sometimes friends notice after we fall if at all.
Sometimes, friends move away, or a change in our lives limits the time
we have to spend with them.
but they never become sometime friends,
for they are always, always in our minds and hearts.
6/8/89

Laughter, chuckles, smiles can cross the weary miles
As easily as a phone call or letter, but I miss the gentle hugs,
And the ever-eloquent shrugs. Being with you is always better.

We1ve laughed and cried together; seldom discuss the weather,
And share �most anything under the sun... I laugh and cry over notes you've penned -
or even those I send...but being with you is much more fun.

You've helped me to believe in things I've dared to dream...
Someday we'll share them as they come to be - as our friendship continues to grow,
There's something I want you to know...you are the perfect friend to me!

8/16/89 for MaryAnn Irey

Too many goodbyes

� � � � � � � � � �Can tear a heart

� � � Into little fragments

� � � � � � � � Some too small to find

� � � � � � � � � � � � � � Except by those

� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � Who really care.

1988

I held the ocean in my hand

�����For one brief moment.

���������� I tasted salt

����� As the wind

���������� Blew the froth

��������������� Off the summer brew,

And I watched with

��������������� The wonder of a child

���������� As the forces of life

����� Battled in the waves

And on the sand.

��������������� I held the ocean in my hand

��������������� For one brief moment

����� And then it was gone,

��������������� leaving salt spray on my cheeks

And a precious shell in my hand.

s.m.chisam

Again, for MaryAnn. Hope there are oceans in heaven.

Eight p.m. of a summer's eve. First glance captures bright green-gold eyes and a smile.

My mind records the stars in the eyes, the mouth, the hair, the set of his chin.
I know you, my friend.

I have talked with you, walked with you,

Laughed and wept with you.

somewhere in dreamland. I know you.

I ask how much you want

For the mountain picture on your wall.

The deer, the waterfall, the forest

Become a thread in our lives.

When we drive to the top of Kono Tayee, I know what you see.

You know what I will want pictures of.

Then on to the beach, looking for rocks, comparing, touching surfaces smooth and rough

Noticing textures in the play of sun light on water and sand and hands and faces.

Then on...climbing over rocks surrounded by water,

Then you climb up to the top as I climb up the other side

Just enough climb for a beginning.

And the time flies as you share with me the beauty of this lake county.

We drive into the mountains and I discover, to my delight,

That you also prefer the windows open as we drive,

To smell the pines, to feel the air,to hear the sounds all around us.

you remind me of the songs

the songs that were heard since the end of time

the songs that sing forever

the songs that darken the night and light the stars, the

songs that awaken the day and call for something bright

the songs that tell each seed when the ground is warm enough to grow,

the songs which tell each heart when it should reach out and grow also...

the songs that have no words yet contain all the feelings

so we keep trying to recreate the songs

ah, if only I could write poetry like those songs...

like trying to describe the song of the Wind...

a few stitches here

or there

patching

patching

glueing

trying to keep

the fabric

of a friend's heart

together

patching it with crystal spider webs

and dew-drenched fern fronds,

the peace she finds in the forest

and the love she finds in her heart.

8/2/99

smchisam

For a friend in need

(For thosenon-human friends in our lives.) They named him something else for his long name, at least at first,

but his nickname was always Pumpkin.

He struggled into life and as his life flowed into being,

his mother's ebbed and then flowed out of her even as he did.

And so he became Melody's Last Song.

And the first song he sang was anguish, his bleating cries for his mother, even as warm and caring humans

fed him by bottle, and he watched the other colts and fillies, each with their towering, warmblooded and

warmhearted mothers standing closely by them in pastures or stalls.

And his next song was to love in his need, to show by his actions that he accepted you so you would accept him,

and so he would let you lead him, even without a halter

and let you pick up any old foot you wanted to check his tiny hooves

and he would nuzzle you with his warm breathy muzzle as you stroked him

And he would try to convince you to stay with him

when it was time to leave.

What will Pumpkin's song be?

Will he race with the wind across pasture and meadow?

Will he be as loving and kind as the melody from which he came?

Will he take Melody's Last Song and turn it into an unequalled symphony?

I wonder all this

as I quietly stand, stroking the soft ears

of a colt named Pumpkin.