I was just tired, grieved of the world
bled by love and battlefield
for it had taken the bits and pieces
leaving me the sense of abandoned.
A walk in the woods, would do good
find a rock and sit and write
perchance I’d find inspiration there
spring would offer a bloom.
I found solace in nature, I liked animals
their instincts attuned for survival
was it strange, I noticed someone
in glimpse of his sadness.
What is he doing here, squinting to see,
appears, he scribes a journal
perhaps he wears similar pain as I,
I hoped he might speak with me.