So you bare no warmth or heat in presents of me brother
You prefer casting cold fish from the bottom depth of the glades
Fervor is not your friend but dismay toward the writers of today
You say to me and others leave on your clever way, art in poem you say? Ha
But in cabin lanterns light surrounding dark defines the writers light
Words are more than wrong or right they are birds of flight and prey
So gather you in featherless flight and away from burning moths shall stay
For burning wings is a hot winded flight that stroke the fires into day
Go then all alone into your cold amongst the chilling water glades
No more shall a writer’s poem keep you from your glacial shade
But if in chill you feel seeping into the darkest lit of deeper pray
Find a thrill that will warm your cockles within my evening poem
..
My heart fails without the heat of your friendship steeping into my veins
This loss of wayward friendship
I hope one day you find your way
And we shall drink of cognac with sugar sweetened rims
And next to the tree of life we will once again be friends fighting
Of those things that matter not in the clay of men
