I do not know this man at all

but to acclaim his fame and skill.

Yet somehow in my heart I feel

that we would find a common bond.

In love of form and texture strong.

Of winds that fill, to shape a sail.

The sound of waves against the hull

And wheeling Sea Gulls flying free.

A leafless branch that sheds the snow,

or sunlight sparkling on a brook.

In golden leaves that paint the fall,

or frost that crunches under foot.

If we were dumb and could not speak,

Still joy we’d find in all these things.

How small a fault then language is,

to separate to friends.

 

 

David Garlick, Victoria, 1986