There are many and more
who would kiss my hand,
taste my lips,
to my loneliness lend
their bodies’ warmth.
I have want of a friend.
There are few, some few,
who would give their names
and fortunes rich
or send first sons
to my ailing bed.
I have need of a friend.
There is one and only one
who will give the air
from his failing lungs
for my body’s mend.
And that one is my love.
