An ode to Friendship
The cardinal pair, each fall they came To Grandma’s feeder stand -- Out the window where she sat lame All winter were at hand. I never knew the dreams she had: Her tongue the stroke did stay; But spirit soared, her eyes grew glad When crimson flew her way. And then one day their wings grew cold For she had gone away; No longer did the feeder hold The seed which friendship lays. My friend, while I still have my speech This chance cannot pass by To lay my seed within your reach -- Perchance you may draw nigh.