The wind is whipping up a gale;
The pelted raindrops sting like hail,
And, as in some dark fairy-tale,
I’m traipsing through the storm.
Behind me, there’s a little room,
As sheltered as an airtight tomb;
And, like the ever-virgin womb,
It’s always safe and warm.
But I’m a one who needs to go
Out where the cheeks of heaven blow –
A thing which only goes to show
I differ from the norm.
It’s no surprise I walk alone;
Not everybody’s made of stone.
Photo by Todd Trapani on Unsplash
