by Russet McMillan
Well, I've never been able to write poetry worth beans, but look what crawled out of my head this morning (a couple hours _after_ my usual bedtime, naturally). It gets labored in places, but really, I'm ridiculously proud of myself. I just happened to notice that someone has fourteen letters in his name . . .
Relying on yourself for all those years As if you had no one whom you could trust You learned to scoff at hope and mock all tears, Make light of love, and never own to fears Of death, or life itself; you think you must Not show the truth, that underneath its rust Drums your true heart, which honors and reveres Virtues you claim are worthless as the dust. Each time you say such words, I see your face -- Concealing all, you think -- but in your eyes Clear as the light of day, shines warmth, not cold. How could I guess, when I came to this place, I'd meet a man so loyal, brave, and wise, Or find a friend who's worth his weight in gold?