Classic Poem

Most people have a way of making friends
That's very queer.
They don't choose whom they like, but anyone
In some way near.
The girl beside them on the factory bench,
The girl next door
Does. If they move then they forget the friend
They had before.
I choose the friends who suit me (one I found
Shut up in jail)—
Some nuns, some clerks, Anne whose beauty was
Frankly for sale.
Of course I cannot see them every day.
That's as Fate sends.
Blind Fate may choose my times for me, but not,
Oh not, my friends.