To a friend

For you my friend,
theres so much to pretend,
Similar to the letters,
We tend to apprehend.

May it be now, or may it be later,
When the tundra of ice turn to sand,
So here for now, my dear friend out there,
i leave a note for the words to air.

May the love of the sun warmth your path,
May the grass grow greener on your part,
May it always seem like a potrait so clear,
May our letters keeps us here.

To the path unknown it bents,
Till the hills, turn to plains of sand,
How it ends, its naught to be seen, (dun know i spell it rite)
May your garden grow ever green.

So there I go again like always,
The words, i'll form out of clay,
May my will write to you, dear friend,
Till our dying days our story ends.

From an Email by Jin