i can trample grass and
step on bugs and flowers
all in an innocent evening
of lying in a field thinking
blinded by starlight
in my own company

but if i were to close my eyes
and if the creatures ceased their songs
and leaves ceased their rustling
and city sounds faded into my thoughts
then i would be left with myself

who then shall take me
if i am such sad company
to only me?
i make no difference for
stars or trees
or birds or bees

easy to arrive at the thought
that loneliness is less a problem
than living