The Sad Song

March to the beat of little drums,

Drums that only you can hear,

On winding paths of circumstance,

Across the day and down the year.

Imagine not some other one

May ever travel at your side,

For in this labyrinthine vale

Roads briefly merge and then divide.

You hear a voice or touch a hand,

But never is it yours to know

The toils of anguish round a heart

Or whither he will turn and go.

The sad song of togetherness

Forever echoes in the land

To cry how much alone you are

And how you yearn to understand.