In Common

Who could know that you,
A man from America's Norseland
With glacier blue eyes and Frankish nose,
With German surname
And quiet resolve,

Would craft a lure made of wood and steel,
and patience and lyric,

Truth spilling out from your troubadour's tongue.

Who could know that I,
A man of olive skin and onyx orbs,
With Spanish nomenclature,
Like so much of my Native Barbary Bay.

Would hear your musical call,
transfixed, by the similar ache and
yearn.

Yet here we are.

Kindred survivors of synonymous strife.
Different and the same.
Grateful for the end of those Warrior days of spring.

Happy in our late summer fruits.

Yearning for our Autumn's harvest and Winter's rest

Knowing that we share all this and more and love

in Common.