Ex­ile

Isis Town and Country - - Opinion - By NANCE BUR­NETT

Lonely and bleak the path I tread,

Along this wind­ing way of life,

And things I do to forge ahead,

So of­ten get me into strife,

I know that I need company,

Within this lone­li­ness of mind,

But no-one else can ever see,

It must be heart and soul com­bined.

Op­pres­sive still­ness grips my soul,

For hands can meet, and lips, and eyes;

But minds that we can­not con­trol,

Have twists that take us by sur­prise,

And paths that climb to­wards the sun,

With silent mu­sic sweet in tone.

Yet God made each and ev­ery one,

A man to al­ways stand alone.

So what is there to com­pen­sate,

The flit­ting bee from bud to bough,

The dream-eyed cows that con­tem­plate,

The draught-horse har­nessed to the plough?

They are of earth alone, and free

From all that hu­man hearts de­mand.

They have ful­fil­ment here, but we

Are ex­iles in for­eign land.

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