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Friendship poem


tarun829
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I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where, For so swiftly it flew, the sight, Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where, For, who has sight so keen and strong, That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak, I found the arrow, still unbroke, And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend.

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Those Winter Sundays

By Robert Hayden

Sundays too my father got up early

and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,

then with cracked hands that ached

from labor in the weekday weather made

banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.

When the rooms were warm, he’d call,

and slowly I would rise and dress,

fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,

who had driven out the cold

and polished my good shoes as well.

What did I know, what did I know

of love’s austere and lonely offices?

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