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Weeds or Flowers
What is it about you that makes you my friend?
Finds me on your doorstep again and again?
What is it you have that I cannot resist?
What need do you fill that my poor heart has missed?
My friends aren’t all handsome, or pretty, or wise.
They come in a myriad of ages and size!
I met some at work; some in line at the store;
Some were friends of a friend of a friend and no more.
Some make me laugh; some bid me conspire;
Others sing praises; or kindle desire.
One’s steady; one’s reckless; one’s playful; one’s skilled;
One’s plain as a board; one jingles with frills!
Some I admire; some I do not;
Yet each brings a gift that no other has brought.
Without an agenda for sharing our time;
I witness their frailties and they witness mine!
The first ones I run to to share a success;
The ones that I cry with when life is a mess.
My secrets are safe in the palms of their hands;
No words could I say that they won’t understand.
But, without fail, each friendship was started;
As best we recall, with a gesture good-hearted.
Extending a smile, or a nod, or a hand;
A simple "I see you" or "I understand."
We get what we give; but those who lament;
that they'll give when they get, have missed the intent.
If you await friendship, you may wait forever.
It doesn’t come knocking; (it isn’t that clever).
It’s awkward, and risky; and reeking of danger;
To gently pursue the trust of a stranger.
This is your garden; to reap you must sow;
Love before loved; first we bestow;
Flowers and weeds all share the same row;
Like friends who were strangers a furrow ago.
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