Sonnet 1

how cruel it is that friends depart
Fate must have her debt
paid by us from poor, lonely heart
leaving only cool regret
They bear away with their leaving
a measure of what you shared
they mean no spite, no hate conceiving
the pain they had prepared
So how joyous, then, when friends return
cannot be measured on a hand
it is a splendid thing to cease to yearn
as an answer to silent demand
To lose a friend is a terrible pain
But a friend returned is twice the gain