I am the watcher,
The looker-on at life.
I keep to a corner
And, in my mind’s eye,
Measure the colours in the clouds,
Their rose and pink and silver;
Their rolling folds in shades of grey.
I count waves as they reach the shore,
Time the shadows’ shift from west to east,
Then track each young girl’s path
From hope to grief.
When busy people say I have not lived,
I sigh to think of all that they have missed.