A Friend

I haven't many, so sad but true,
A fact that I have grown to rue;
That which I've missed in love doth stay,
Despite my errors, day by day.

My greatest Friend doth sit above,
In height exceeds all other love;
A model, He, both strong and true,
A Friend to all, so clear to view.

Some called friends do share their heart,
But only if you share their part
In whatsoever battle rages –
Such, false friends throughout the ages.

'Tis said, "The Friend doth love thee true,
Despite what thou dost say or do";
Not many people fit this mold –
Less common than the crock o' gold.

I've not found many o'er many a year –
'Tis less than two or three, I fear;
Yet, Lord, I tell Thee truly now,
Of these dear friends, one such is Thou.

© Copyright 2005 G L Hickman (UN: garryhickman at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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