A friend of virtue
doesn’t wear the same size shoe
Or sit in the cubicle next to you.
She didn’t appear
because you happened to be
alphabetically
compatible and sitting in a row.
At least that’s not why she was chosen
more than other people who wear size 9,
or prairie dog in that long-forgotten secretarial pool,
or classmates when you learned the golden rule.
You may not see her for months
But when you do
You slide straight into the burden on your soul
And lightened by release, you ask for advice
Like a child afraid in the dark, crawling in bed
With a sister for comfort.
Companions make the burdens
and the darkness lighter with their presence.
You admire and respect and
imitate your friend of virtue
the way Aristotle mimicked Plato
with a twist and an turn
and a voice of his own.
A friend of virtue shares more than your humor,
she shares your soul.