Being a friend, Ido not care, not I,
How Gods or men wrong me, beat me down.
His words are sufficient star to travel by.
I count him wit quiet praise.
Being a friend, I do not covet gold,
Or the royal gift to give him pleasure, but
sit wit him and have him hold my hand.
Is wealth,Ithink, passing the mint treasure?
Being friend, I only covet art,
A white pure flame to search me as I trace,
In crocked letters from a tyhrobbing heart,
The hymn to beauty written on his face.
Though a seeker since my birth,
Here is all I’ve learned on Earth
It’s the gift of what I know…..
Give advice yo buy a foe.
Random truths are all I find,
Stuck like burrs about my mind
Solve a blister, burn an old letter
And the youth said ‘Speak to us of friendship’
And he answered saying’
‘Your friend is your needs answered.
He’s your filed which you sow with love
And reap with tahnksgiving.
And he is your board and your fireside,
For you to come with your hunger,
Seeking him for peace.’
Seseorang dari rumah pasien AIDS di San Francisco