by Brian G. Daigle
There is a way that poets describe a rose Or any flower pleasing to see. There is a way that sailors sing of their love And respect for the vast blue sea. There is a delight one gets when near a friend And sharing a laugh or a meal, And still yet there is a bliss and thrill to gain When at the peak of a Ferris wheel. But the poet didn't know you, and the sailors could not have grasped, Just what a beautiful friend you'd be, And how your thrill does the Ferris height outlast. Mine is the greater delight than any of those three. A rose can be plucked and the sea has its storms, But blessed am I to call you my friend, Whose love my joy does shape and form, Whose virtues endure to the end.
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