Not the sad face of sadness;
not its weariness, nor its lack of hope;
but why sadness visits, and what it intends:
what the secret blessings that it brings…
not the quick whims of hope or faith,
that last so briefly, then are gone:
but where they truly come from;
where they rest eternal in the heart:
explain themselves in their own worldly ways;
not even that love that comes and shines and passes;
no, none of these – and all of these:
masked, they come and knock upon the door;
friends, that come to tease, to test, to heal..
open the door to them;
now, before they knock..
Michael Shepherd
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/friends-in-disguise-to-rilke/
