Fellowship – anonymous

When a feller hasn’t got a cent
And is feelin’ kind of blue,
And the clouds hang thick and dark
And won’t let the sunshine thro’,
It’s a great thing, oh my brethren,
For a feller just to lay
His hand upon your shoulder in a friendly sort o’ way.

It makes a man feel queerish,
It makes the tear-drops start.
And you kind o’ feel a flutter
In the region of your heart.
You can’t look up and meet his eye,
You don’t know what to say
When a hand is on your shoulder in a friendly sort o’ way.

Oh this worlds a curious compound
With its honey and its gall,
Its cares and bitter crosses,
But a good world after all.
And a good God must have made it,
Leastwise that is what I say,
When a hand is on your shoulder in a friendly sort o’ way.

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The Small Cafe by Dennis Lange

The shades are drawn; the light is pale
…Upon the yellow wall.
The blades above on ceiling fans
…In a tight circle crawl.

Three couples at a table sit,
…Close friends like ancient tomes
That have a common history,
…And share a common home.

Another place – two grands with kids
…Too young to be in class,
Are there to make a memory
…That school cannot surpass.

Another table’s strange to me –
…Two young girls sit with phones.
Together, they are separate,
…Not in each other’s zones.

A single woman sits alone
…Like me with my own thought.
I wonder if her money brings
…The joy that mine has brought.

The clatter of the cutlery,
…The chatter o’er the meal,
The pleasantness of food and drink –
…All told, the moment seal.

And I, the bard, am struck by this
…That people come to eat,
And oft the food that’s on their plates
…Is not the greatest treat.

But in their sharing of their food
…And sharing of their time,
They give themselves to those they love
…In meals that are sublime.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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