In the lamplight
       the little girl trudges home
head down
      step weary
                thoughts heavy
                         mind on the past
               of dreams and hopes
      forsaken and realised
thinking how a dream is no longer as good
      when it happens
                           a let down
a prelude of nothingness ahead
             and the effort of forging another goal
      as having none
is the distant tree with no branches
              no balance
nothing for the wind to make music
       and once inside the house
               in her lonely bedroom
she removes her hat and gloves
          putting them carefully away
                 but leaving her coat on the bed
she looks in the mirror
                seeing an elderly lady look back
         with a knowing smile
experienced
        and worldly
and wonders why she took so long
                                                 coming home

A waif on this earth,
Sick, ugly and small,
Contemned from my birth
And rejected by all,
From my lips broke a cry,
Such as anguish may wring,
Sing, — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.


By Wealth's coach besmeared
With dirt in a shower,
Insulted and jeered
By the minions of power,
Where — oh where shall I fly?
Who comfort will bring?
Sing, — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.


Life struck me with fright —
Full of chances and pain,
So I hugged with delight
The drudge's hard chain;
One must eat, — yet I die,
Like a bird with clipped wing,
Sing — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.


Love cheered for a while
My morn with his ray,
But like a ripple or smile
My youth passed away.
Now near Beauty I sigh,
But fled is the spring!
Sing — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.


All men have a task,
And to sing is my lot —
No meed from men I ask
But one kindly thought.
My vocation is high —
'Mid the glasses that ring,
Still — still comes that reply,
Chant poor little thing.

Don't cry, this kiss is a kiss goodbye.
Don't cling, it's time to part.
Don't look at me nor ask me why
I've taken back my heart.

No questioning, no pleading;
No door remains ajar.
No doubt your heart is bleeding
Now, and wounds of love will scar.

Don't hope to ever turn back time,
Nor resurrect the flame
Of what became a pantomime
Of love, in all but name.

I've been floating
for a while.

It's been nice 'till now, (I think),
but they want to steal my smile.

Not that they'd have much to take -
I don't smile all that often -
but I'm happy as it is.

Oh.

I've been sinking
for a while,
have I not?

I'm still having fun, (I think),
even though those faces vile
stole
my most heartfelt and beloved smile.

Not that they had much to take -
I didn't smile all that often, but -
I was happy when I did.

Oh.

I've been at the bottom
for too long,
no doubt.

It's no longer fun, (I know),
since they've taken all I had.
Not that I had much to give -
Can't remember what I lost -
I'm so silly, I've forgotten.
I'm so silly that I smile,
even though I've sunk.

Oh -

I've been floating
for a while.