A rhyming poem regarding the difference between being alone and being lonely.

The man’s beloved wife of many years died.
Months pass; he now lives alone in their house.
He rarely ventures out but remains inside,
his world altered upon losing his spouse.

“It is not good to be alone so much.
Being alone will make you depressed, sad,”
friends do warn. The man smiles weakly at such
concern, replies, “Being alone isn’t bad.

‘During our marriage I was often alone,
when she was away caring for a sick friend
or on business trips. Talking on the phone,
emails and texting – on these I could depend.

‘I knew I would soon feel her loving touch.
Though alone, I never knew loneliness.
My wife’s undying great love was my crutch.
Her absence is now vile and odious.

‘You must understand. Being by myself
isn’t the problem. Loss of her love’s the only
cause of my constant despair; that itself
means in a crowd of thousands I’ll be lonely.

‘One can be alone yet be quite content,
whereas feeling lonely blocks enjoyment.”