Thanks, I give to thee, my friend
Of written lays that have no end
Of thought, of depth, of possible
Ideas that could be written down.
Your’s too, it truly, a work of art
And though I wouldn’t praise mine so
Your’s is too of the clouds, the gold
Though maybe more the falling cold;
The waters falling, sunset glint
These glorious meanderings.
But still more glorious is the King
Who made all things so beautifully.
To Him I give my gratitude
In Him eternally I place
My faith bestowed upon me by
His Son, Jesus Christ, my Lord.
I think these rhymes that we have writ
And so contrived of all our “wit”
Should so be set, continuous
A poem they are for ongoing
The conversation wielded
By us upon a poem’s rhyme.
——-Very nice couplet you’ve made there!
Even while you write your thought
A couplet made, a couplet wrought.
Very nice your’s, too!