friendship poetry

gone are the three, those sisters rare
he'd even have his joke
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
there is a country full of wine
a little peach in the orchard grew
darkest, strangest mystery
for then without
i walk down the garden paths
little park that i pass through
i have known the silence of the stars and of the sea
you are beautiful and faded
in an old chamber softly lit
there is a city, builded by no hand