I had been troubled
That an old friend was mad at me
For my slowness to do as promised—
And adding to my procrastination
About important matters,
In my delay, I had hoped alternately
That he his silence had been
Simply because he was busy—
And then again that he must be mad—

Too few have the elusive spark that drives them
Beyond the necessary to the meaningful—
From the sanctuary of self to the garden of others.

How sweet it is, then, that such gardeners might perchance
Find one another along the way and take heart
In a camaraderie unknown to others.

You do not really know the man
Until you know what he knows.