Early Works - In Friendship

To Maurice Callard

The days were marked with frustration
each getting more than the last.
A friend with a proposition
an opportunity that might last.
Along dark corridors to an almost empty room
a light for ambition awaiting there,
a mere mortal with friendly words.

The days seem shorter than before
the frustration begins to decline.
A thought rears from the subconscious
is spurred on to a climax.
A year of tension
and seemingly impossible task,
but its ending is enjoyment.

Years pass almost unnoticed
the light is now a friend
someone whom I think highly
who’s prompting never ends.
Someone to identify with
whom my reward is regarded as friendship.
I ask no higher accolade
from him or any other.
For friendship is a bond
for which my life has purpose.

28 February 1980

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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