How shall I smile when I can but frown?
When friends are but strangers and strangers abound.
How shall I laugh when I can but weep?
With such a barren harvest to reap.
For with every passing year,
A life grows cold that once was dear.
How shall I love, when I know love not?
How can I give what I haven't got?
Men are like ships adrift in the night,
Each to his own way; all else from sight.
Their words an empty social play.
What shall I speak when there's nothing to say?
A raven in a flock of geese,
'Tis no surprise I'm ill-at-ease.
When none enjoy my company,
How shall I smile with honesty?
George Chadderdon © 1992