Lonely is no respecter of places
Even pretty Paris cannot appease
In its finest fashion-frenzied faces
Love’s loneliness; soul-pressed and hunger-squeezed
Lonely is no respecter of persons
Baron and beggar drink from the same well
Even the bard cannot pen an elixir
To quaff oceanic foreshadows of hell
Lonely is no respecter of hours
It bleeds its fathoms through daylight or dark
Merciless marksman, savvy sharpshooter
Aims for the heart; never misses its mark
Lonely is no respecter of seasons
A world full of summers cannot impede
Or stopper the flask that has no bottom
Save in the filling of another’s need
© Janet Martin
"My luggage was snowed under blizzard's of travel-stickers.
I have been alone in Paris,
alone in Vienna,
alone in London,
and all in all,
it is very much like
being alone in Green Town, Illinois.
It is, in essence,
being alone.
Oh, you have plenty of time to think,
improve your manners,
sharpen your conversations.
But I sometimes think I could easily trade a verb tense or a curtsy
for some company that would stay over for a thirty-year week-end."
They drank their tea.
~from Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury~
