Colin F. Jones


How better a verse is when tis writ,
Knowing a friend might read it with a care,
‘Tis like a mother who would loving knit,
Her son a coat he would so lovingly wear.
Is not the better verse writ of another?
For such subject matter is beyond compare,
And who to write about exceeds a Mother,
Or of a friend who is so true and fair?
We found our friends upon the battle field
Due to the uniqueness of our fates demands,
But here to understanding we must yield,
For here we find ourselves in others hands.
Of gentle gesture germinated from the soul,
That we all know might one day make us whole.

This poem is a response to “Refresh My Memory” ©Copyright April 30, 2002 by Faye Sizemore