Colin F. Jones


I don’t see grieving as a way to honour friends,
Who died in war or in any other way.
I don’t see self-sorrow, on which some depend,
As genuine love of a friend who passed away.
I don’t count words said when comrades live,
As words of honour when those same folk die,
When lack of comment by their silence give,
Naught to their memory which reveals their lie.
I count lost friends as part of what I am,
Though untrue to me, to them I’m always true,
And those precious few, I give all that I can,
That part of me that they have felt they knew.
For a part of them forever fills this place,
A wondrous joy upon each smiling face.