If you could see me, I would have to beg
You to forgive me for my inability
Not to cry.  Actually, it is your fault,
My friends.  Your kindness undoes me!  
The unselfish way you come back to make
Sure I have enough wind beneath my wings! 
The way you keep knocking cynicism out
Of the sky!  Your hope and compassion
Filled poems and other writings and joie
De vivre prove again and again that Evil
Is not winning, and never will.  Odds are
That without you, I would have slunk back
To the stygian recesses of the cell where
The Poet  in me was born and lay pining
As I felt its life seep away. Drop the Sarah
Bernhardt histrionics,  my mother used to
Howl, or I will tear you up! ['The Divine
Sarah' ruled stage and screen before talkies
Came in.]   But I speak the truth!   Because
Of you, my work, though it will always be
Uneven, has improved.  Because of you, I
Feel less like a freak.   If not like a winner, not
Like a  loser.  True, I am still bad to play, but
You know what?  Now and then, play leads to
A poem that ain' bad.  Perhaps even good enough
To to copy and paste on Valentines intended
For friends I love, admire, and cherish-?