For My Old Friend Harry

Some claim the measure of the man 

Lies in something tangible and firm;

His stature, his strength, 

His fame, his fortune.

But I, for one, find none of these, 

To be a fitting yardstick.

Rather do I measure Harry’s worth 

By the stories we have shared,

Comedies and tragedies,

Dramas and histories

Yarns of adventures gone awry.

Be they Joyous or humble, 

Painful or proud,

Of good times or of Ill,

I have found in these shared sagas,

His humanity,

Well hidden by gruff temperament,

Masked by mumbled words,

Infused with a certain spirit,

And well punctuated by profanity.

It is not despite these flaws

But rather more because of them,

That his tales of love and loss,

Of dangers, of trials,

Of hardships, of misadventures,

Resonate within my soul 

And will remain forever with me.

Godspeed my old friend.

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