A known quantity bereft of quality;
a name of little beyond its letters,
by road’s shoulder perhaps guide

to openly weep a slippery *****
of once having known someone’s art
yet lay hold naught of their heart

eternally flowing river of kindnesses
shall meander, thoughts ever caress
even when words and faces now drift

a familiar feeling remains here still
years invested this regenerating gift
lines and verse ever ascend that hill