"Write a poem for me," you said.
I couldn't so I quietly declined.
I watched you as you stepped around,
Slashing your paper sword in and out.

"Okay then, I'll make one," you said.
You stopped moving and concentrated,
Frowning. She teased you and you told
her to keep quiet, to which she did.

It was nearly 5pm and it was raining softly.
We waited for you patiently,
Then words started spilling from your mouth.
Indeed you made a poem with us as your eager crowd.

It was almost therapeutic, man.
With your gentle voice blending in the rain;
Like warm honey trickling under the Mediterranean sun.
Who would've thought that we'd be friends?

-m.b