Winter
morning:
Even the
birds are sleeping.
Cold and
silent, frosty,
And this gray
fog;
I think of
the great silences:
The vast
dusty libraries,
And lonely
roads after dusk,
The unsaid
words,
Things the
Heart will never express,
And the
forever stilled lips
Of the newly
dead;
And then,
somehow,
I think of
you
Somewhere in
this wide world,
And me
drifting alone:
I am a lost stranger
In the busy
cross roads,
Voiceless
among the million
Strangers in
the towering city;
I am a star,
among the countless stars,
Frozen in a
dark universe,
Utterly
silent, oblivious
To the babble
of the planets.
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