Loureine Aber, 'My Friend'

[duathir.livejournal.com]

My Friend

He ran wild:
I have seen the stiff butterfly-weed by the road
Flaming—as he.
When I asked him—I who could sit every night
By a snug, safe fire—
He said:
“I was a mendicant under the Dark Reign,
And sat on a dung-hill nine years
Praying grace.
God gave me grace—
I have a wine-cup that is higher than the towers rising over Notre Dame.

By Loureine Aber