How like a cell is my small cubicle
Here I dwell avoiding human kind.
For kind in that phrase is not apt
When many humans lack mere tact.
When suffering deep within my souI,
In the cubicle, I hide.
Till love conspires to make me whole
And stands just by me, side by side
The winter of the soul is hard
Yet spring must come with the small birds
Yet will I wither by grief jarred?
I do believe I shall be cured.
For consolation comes from friends
Whose selfless love will never end.
May I be such a friend to you,
And give my love to life anew.
How my heart sings 