Every day, more of the same
Slowly, my spirit drifts away.
I ebb and I sway
Down this rocky river of loneliness-
Until I reach the still soft willow trees.
All the creatures of the meadows,
They cast their eyes upon me.
Is she alive or dead?
Is she catatonic, can she see?
I play mute for the moment,
I revel in this quiet bliss.
I know I can’t stay like this,
But it was nice to play the part.