Am I really here, or even real?
Are the people around me just glittering spiels?
Bending and yawning as an aching willow
Opening and weeping on splayed soft pillows
Fluffy and delicate, once never to shed
By and by warm an unkept withered bed
Vowed never to have been slept in
But a lowly spirit swelled within
What once was lost, could never be found
The root sprouted from trodden ground
A dwindling, pebbled little path
Swept away in a minute flash
Gone goes the summer and the sparrow groans
Never again is that reverence to be known
Perhaps a love misplayed might cease to be shown