A Work In Progress
A lonely soul, I haunt this peopled earth;
and ever solitary, I beside
remain untreasured and ne'er knowing mirth.
Woe am I! For wherefore do I confide
in Thee, O Lord? For, alone and unloved,
I perish day and night, year after year:
for You have not willed my dearly beloved;
but, sick of my requests, turned a deaf ear.
Be that as it may, Poesy's a comfort,
a just redeemer and a savior:
whose craft provides spiritual life-support;
and sustains my poor heart like no lover.
O Lord, though I have found a new mistress;
have grace on me as a work in progress!?
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