Alas, it had to end br For you see, it was my friend br That stole into my garden near br And took down the fruit, so dear. br br A friend, a friend no more br That harvested from my daily store br And kept that which he felt to be his br Giving nothing in return, nay even a kiss. br br So friend or foe, begone I say br If you have nothing to give, in any way br But see my art (and that of my wife so dear) br As nothing but etchings on plate, unclear. br br For they offer a look into my soul br Which alas, in dirt grows cold br Still reveals the workings of the heart br In bringing forth, a masterpiece of art. br br sbr br Sidi J.