Alone as the rooks are
In their high, shaking homes in the sky at the mercy of winds,
Alone as the lurking trout or the owl which hoots
Comfortingly. I have a well-crammed mind
And I have deep-down healthy and tough roots.

But in this house where I live
In one big room, there is much solitude,
Solitude which can turn to loneliness if
I let it infect me with its darkening mood.
Away from here I have an abundant life,
Friends, love, acclaim and these are good.

And I have imagination
Which can travel me over mountains and rough seas;
I also have the gift of discrimination.
High in a house which looks over many trees
I collect sunsets and stars which are now a passion.
And I wave my hand to thousands of lives like this,
But will open my window in winter for conversation.