Tommy's poem.

This is a poem my late friend Tommy left on my door, one day, when I wasn't home - back in the mid 70s. I was cleaning out a closet, today, and came across it. It feels like a Dead Sea scroll to me (looks like one, too).
This piece of paper was stapled to my bedroom wall for many years. I think it's evidence of our complex relationship that he wrote this, and that I proudly displayed it. It seems to me that I remember being offended most by the term "lackluster," oddly enough. I wrote him a reply, but I don't think a copy exists. I do recall the first couple of lines: "Tis only two leagues, you say unto me, and yet two thousand it may as well be / preparing myself for the long journey, instead of treading them constantly..."
Or something like that.


'Tis only two leagues
here and back again
no dragons, no ghouls to hurry me on
but still the journey long
with no food nor song
no steed to race the wind and return in a
wink
of the eye?

Methinks thou art a master of deception
and moreover a wizard without description
abstaining from the magic in the weed and
usually the golden mead

It seems you lose your fiery bearing
when it comes to adventure and daring
are you whom you proclaim you are
or merely a lackluster foolish bard?

Time to go now that you've gotten my message
we hope you'll enjoy this
(river?) of thought pouring over and over
(in?) your conniving mind.

D'Arcy


(I love you too, Tommy...)