Shall I say what moves me?
Where the mirror tells its tale
A thousand, flitting expressions
Are briefly shadow impaled.
But the written word must speak for
My hard-to-comprehend mind,
And the warm hand of a friendship
Midst letters bend to find.
A hundred conversations
From a dozen words must show,
Withal warm confirmation
That strengthens, says: "'tis so".
© John McNeil. All rights reserved.
This poem may be used free of charge, on the condition that copies are not sold for profit in any medium, nor any entrance fee charged to a performance. In exchange, the author would appreciate being notified of any occasion the poem is used in public performance. He may be contacted at: email@example.com Or at: 36B Stourbridge St, Christchurch 8024, New Zealand.