More thoughts than ought to be allowed
Are running through my head,
And so I turn and leave the crowd
To be alone, instead.

I’m loath for anyone to see
The turmoil on my face
So go and sit beneath a tree,
My well-loved resting place.

As if I’m happy on my own,
At once, I feel all right.
I know I’ve always been alone
Since first I saw the light.

It doesn’t even damp my eye
To know that this is how I’ll die.

Photo by William Topa on Unsplash

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