His life is not so bad in fairness.
He has no special grief to speak of,
Nor heartbreak or damning sorrow;
Sunrise finds him living, and the night,
Going through the usual little deaths;
His cups and plates are not empty
And his road ahead is far from barren;
He has love and love to give, but why
Oh why does he repine?
Why does darkness lure him so
And tell him that the lights within him
Are illusory
And the hope he clings to will
Sever?

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