Loneliness Poem by John Yaws

Ah, loneliness, thou savage beast-
Dost rend and tear the heart;
And comes when one expects it least-
And makes the tears to start.
It matters not, who is around
When thou dost spring thy tricks
To isolate and set apart-
To make one's spirit sick.
For I oft long for she who lies
Just beyond my reach....
Perhaps somewhere beyond the skies
Perhaps some tropic beach.
Perhaps this nymph does but exist
In my poor fevered mind-
Perhaps I'll grope in mental mists
And never solace find...?
Ah, what a bitter cup to quaff
And drink it to the lees-
While others at my anguish laugh-
At me, upon my knees.
Oft called a knave, perhaps there's none
Who could feel ought for me-
Perhaps alone life's race I'll run-
At death alone I'll be.
Then lay me neath the prairie sod-
And this carve on the stone-
"Commend his spirit unto God-
For here he dwelt alone."