Only the slightest light throws itself into this corner,
It has long been written.
By what seems decades of my hand,
And more it seems true,
Through decades I have lived.

 

Though we move in different circles,
Lives and loves we may have seen,
Friends and family and all that mean,
Life’s precious seeds we’ve nurtured and sown,
Yet in the dying days sun,
And in all that we’ve done,
We are all still alone.

 

1996