BY DR. AGONSON
I never knew myself before,
but waking up, forget my name.
I hold my tongue; how I adore
to be near you and play our game.
Your gift to calm my troubled soul,
my friend, when I was all alone,
has pulled me out of my grim hole.
How I did hurt to hear you moan,
to see your joy turned to distress,
but wicked, found my heart soon hoped
from this, your ill, my good to wrest.
Soon stamping out the thought I coped,
and worked to heal you of your woe.
So please forgive that I should long
—for I, a man, am my own foe—
that you and I should weave our song.