Inside my empty house I roam,
Without the aid of company,
But not, I find, at all alone,
For all the ghosts which come to me.
No pretty noise which fills my days,
Sings to avail my solitude,
My sadness, deftly kept at bay,
Is quietly, at last, perused.
I must learn to appreciate,
Life’s frazzled, random, busyness,
For such distraction insulates,
The heart from woe and wistfulness.
