At times we speak an empty word To fill an empty time, And pretty phrases that we’ve heard Sincerely written out Will never ring discordantly Beside a birthday feast; We greet each other pleasantly In customary ways; Enacting these our rituals, A happy task fulfilled. But what remains when all is said, And all consumed, all fully fed, When darkness fills the space around, Or daily tasks our minds have bound? What threads were spun into the cloth That is the substance of our troth? Our pledge was woven on a loom Whose voice repeats “Let friendship bloom!”