Old Friends (Written February 25)

Old Friends

 

I approach these volumes like old friends,

weathered, heavy with neglect, dusty

Around the edges, sometimes brittle,

 

And from one, at random, find

The line that tells me the riddle

For the day, that sets the stage

 

For my play, like the opening

Bars of a concerto, the cage

That contains the song of the bird.

 

One line, one word, is enough,

And one rule to observe,

As it begins to unfold

 

As it should. Be quiet, be still,

And what needs to be told

Most certainly will.

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