Thread:EtherealSpirit/@comment-13855718-20160309173657

A girl there was in days of old, about whom yet are stories told.

tough she now dwelleth afar, and her friends seldom with her are.

She had to leave due burden great, which doom itself upon her laid

but to her friends she's like a star, whose beauty is seen from afar.

Tough Seldom you know with us dwell, when we meet we've much to tell

and ever does our word and tought, turn to poetry - as it aught.

For young tough we both may be, in words there is a beauty all can see

wether the words are ages old, or only now by a friend told.

So read these words, O friend so dear, and may they create laugh or tear.

Far as a friend I hold you dear, wheter you are far or near.

My tought turns to you sitting there, behind your desk, upon your chair

thinking about longings deep, that like a harvest you can reep.

You taste upon, and find the words, to capture both the love and hurts,

word forever set in ink, for some to read, for all to think

Oh how I wish that It was mine, this great talent with words of thine,

so skilled you weave the words of gold, that many times again they're told

A lament I wrote when you left, where pulled from us, akin to theft

I understand you had to leave, due reasons great, I do precieve.

I hope you're life's a happy flight, and I wish you all the luck in the world - but most of all I wish you by my side! 