friendship poems

old wine to drink
within my hand i hold
this is the song of youth
in the cloud-gray mornings
there is no escape by the river
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
i burn no incense
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought
to come so soon to this imagined dark
i am in love with high far-seeing places
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
truely
if i should die, think only this of me