My Friend

Art thou abroad on this stormy night
on thy journey of love, my friend?
The sky groans like one in despair.

I have no sleep tonight.
Ever and again I open my door and look out on
the darkness, my friend!

I can see nothing before me.
I wonder where lies thy path!

By what dim shore of the ink-black river,
by what far edge of the frowning forest,
through what mazy depth of gloom art thou threading
thy course to come to me, my friend?

by Rabindranath Tagore

Comments (1)

A voice from the distant past is calling your name A voice of young love lost and forgotten A voice screaming we're going to crash A voice saying oh my god we're on a VW Bug A voice from a security guard saying who's your parents A voice from a mother saying your never going to see that boy again A voice from a father saying how could you let that girl drive your car A voice silenced and forced to move on with life. A voice with a story of first love lost. 1979 I'm not much of a poet, but do you remember a night like that? If you don't, then you're not the Dianna Drinkard I knew or the one that knew Scott Freshner and his 1968 Chevelle Malibu. If this is you, HOW ARE YOU DOING! ! ! ! ! ! A friend of mine writes poetry and had me look up one of them. I saw this name from the past and left a comment at your poem. It's been a few months. You must have never read it or Ignored it, which I would understand if you don't want to contact me. But if you would like to chat, I'll be looking forward to your email. Scott Freshner