Real friendships, are hard to find—
by M. Phillip Brown
as those in younger days.
Excepting you, as you were—
regardless of all your ways.
Never worrying, about getting hurt—
in an argument, in a fight.
Words were easily forgotten—
the wounds left, were always slight.
Growing closer together—
concerning yourself with theirs, and not your needs.
A garden of friendship, now blooming—
where once there was only weeds.
It really didn't matter—
if it was boys, or it was girls.
'Cause friendships are more precious—
than any manner, or size, of pearls.
All those carefree moments—
are cast, like jewels upon your heart.
You wouldn't have all those memories—
if you hadn't, let friendships start.