Alone amid the fields without a friend I stood,
While Time, like a ploughman, drove the sun to the west.
Yon horizon, gorgeous with the crimson-fading crest,
Filled my frame with joy, the joy of solitude.
Solitude came early to that growing lad,
He was not good at games, but bookish, lacking pals,
Homing birds he saw and listened to their calls;
A loner to be sure, but seldom lonely-sad.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
notebook as a reward. The second stanza is recent.
Comments about this poem (Lonesome Lad by Ananta Madhavan )
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