Sara's Smile

A smile appeared on my face,
a friend had called my name,
to some folks that is commonplace,
To me, it's not the same.
To call me means they wanted me,
so few and far between,
It's not that folks are mean.
Not one wants me to lean,
upon them weighing them down,
with thoughts like iron weights,
with chains wrapped around.
a padlock, clasped onto their soul.
Hee hee sometimes, I do write prose,
Things like that Old King Cole,
and things that read quite like a rosees scent,
Yeah the merryment, or meant as fun,
You know those ones.
but to reach me as a friend,
You must cry real tears,
and feel all of my fears.
So my friend called out my name,
and knew it was no game.
To be my friend take's inner spirit,
and love of the blues
that come within it.
For to be my friend you are me, in a way.
Thats why most of my friends don't stay, for very long.
I guess it's really not that wrong,
they just weren't strong.
So thanks my friend for calling my name,
I hope you will remain,
for longer than the others,
And I hope that you see,
you also get my love with me,
and that is always free.
And as I trudge along through age's mile,
Thanks for the smile!