I respect you in your solitude, at which others might frown.
You walk the path of lonely books with your anxious crown.
But this crown shines golden, as does your precious mind.
So too your silence bears witness to the daily grind.
This poem tells of being a friend, so honest and so true.
All I know is that I could never ask for a better sister than you.
For where would I find a soul, in its placid, shining shell?
Ready to take my hand, to whom anything I could tell.
The answer is I couldn’t, not one who doesn’t pretend.
So I write this ode to you; the introvert, my sister, my friend.