It’s true you’ve left all hope behind
And wander far and wide
Like one who’s cast out from their mind
And, therefore, stays outside.
And yet you could be doing well
Amid the happy throng –
Enjoying shelter in its shell
And feeling you belong.
Instead, you live on kitchen scraps
And sleep on sodden earth;
It’s this whole troubles you and saps
All sense of inner worth.
Yet you’re expected to behave
As if you don’t long for the grave.
Photo by marianne bos on Unsplash
Quandary
