The hour grows late
My friend
And you are tired,
Sleep crowding your eyes.
Too many newnesses
Saying your goodnights for you.
I watch you go,
Treading these stairs for the last time
As I think of how we've shared
With honest clarity
Pieces of ourselves
Given rarely up till now
I feel a sting behind my lids
Yet why should I mourn before you go
Sensing a space that hasn't happened yet?
If two spirits meet
And blend for just a little time
Does that make it less?
Dear friend
You are part of my life.
By giving and accepting
Thoughts more fundamental
Than superficial talk
Some of you becomes some of me
Its so hard to see you leave
Taking some of me with you.
Pam C.