Sitting in the dark all alone, 
A small cry whimpers -
Through the dark all alone,
Solemn tones received
By no one who can understand or care enough to listen.
Continuous are the pitiful sounds ringing through the world,
Forgotten by those who were once there,
Disillusioned by the crowd of other calls everywhere,
The whole world seems the same
Black dreary obstacle, througout which man is lame,
Slow to see, slow to hear, slower still to love what’s near.
For one man in his solitude,
Are thousands of his kind,
For ten progressed into that sphere, ten thousand left behind?
But mankind in its present form,
Can live without the guilt,
Of hearing inner conscience speak,
“You let that flower wilt”.