best friend poem

somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
in and of itself
there is no flock, however watched and tended
he came and took me by the hand
a pen of steel
out of me unworthy and unknown
from song and dream for ever gone
all quiet along the potomac
we break the glass whose sacred wine
backward, turn backward
rising moon has hid the stars
as i lie roofed in, screened in
when, full of warm and eager love