My Dear Friend

 

Do not imagine weeks go by

that I don�t  think of you.

Not constantly, of course, for I

am occupied it�s true

with matters consequential.

 

But now and then while waiting in

life's sterile anteroom,

your memory causes me to grin

like some circus buffoon

with secrets confidential.

 

I told you that it did not seem

that we once more should meet.

But every now and then I dream

I see you on the street

and deem it most essential.

 

 

Louis William Rose

July 2006

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