Tuesday, August 9, 2016

My Wise Friend



So long the whiskers on your muzzle have grown
From beneath, but you always grin young
The coat of your eyes hath not from last summer stretched
Those pair of green moon doth it always hide
Which till the next beginning it shan't make a leap
I need no thoughts to pen down my verse
About one which I carefully chose from all
One fool might have mistaken the Gem
Whose jaw but never rest in silence 
Who left but no man un-laughed
Who along with joy all the days lived full
But a day will chariot on its fledged wings
To voice to the ears, all that was true
So soft, as though it is the drop of wild honey
And cry they name to crown the silent world
'O, wise friend, with coffer of joy one is made'
I ordain you on the knoll, and this announce
That thou art one best man cub I watched grow
To a most charismatic friend I have ever known
Who once an old fool lose, one such of a priceless
I take no resemblance to Macbeth you say
Not that John with beard, who 'The Flea' wrote
Not even Keats, who very well hath those Odes versed
But a common hand verse the joy upon a friend as YOU