Our Friendship Is A Song

Our friendship is a song.

Round and round she flows.

Never fearful of her sweet return,

Always patient for the day ahead.

It’s like the farmer told me once,

It takes 10 months to grow the rye.

No matter how many lend a hand,

Nature lives on her own timeline.

I like to think of us that way.

Swaying in the gentle air,

Leaning side-to-side.

Sun smiling in our direction.

Growing slowly, out to pasture,

The simple act of being.

Never a race, just time.

Time to feel the warmth of love.

For everything we’ve seen.

For everything we’ve done,

Or haven’t done.

Or wished we would’ve done…

But that’s the thing about a song,

At least, a song like ours.

It’s beauty is the messiness,

The life that lives between the cracks.

From here, there’s never a regret,

When we dance in tenderness.

For all who we are,

For all we are becoming.

Never spite, or in spite of.

Always swaying in the memory.

Of who we’ve always been,

Of the beauty of who we are.

A song that sways the rye to sleep.

The birds that chirp in sweet delight.

For us, for our song.

Together, we’re all right.