Another Poetry Night

I'm in a very Nineteen Century poetical mood lately. Sometimes I think these are bulbs I planted a long, long time ago that - for God knows why - are waking up and growing and flowering now. I suppose you never know what will happen when you major in English literature and listen to Garrison Keillor's A Prairie Home Companion on Saturday nights.

Friendship

There are eyes I've met, the clearest blue

Shuttered tight against all storms that lose

The unguarded, open, and unfiltered light

That lose the simple reflection of delight

And rest dull and hard in returning gaze

Just another stranger in a darkened maze.

And there are those I've seen, of hazel,

Brown or green that hide behind a door

And furtively peek, frightened, and unsure

Like a child punished; sad and unassured

That never trust the eyes they long to see

And as quickly out, are just as quickly to retreat.

So few, so very few that let the light of day

Filter in, or inward light of night out shine

So very few that gaze without fear or shame

A very precious few, color for color, eye to eye

Like lantern boats that glimmer on a darkened sea

That meet and pass and know and remember me.