The forest is filled with people like me.
The birds, their songs, the frogs, and the trees.
A chorus to hollow by each passing day,
adoring the morning, the sun and its warning,
to follow him in his way.
For chance may have it, the cold vicious smile,
the ball going round only once in a while,
may one day wake, to see the others are sleeping.
And find that you are the only one weeping.