A Thing Is What It Is Poem by John Yaws

Another lonely holiday, another midnight cry-
Another opportunity to sit and wonder why?
Another chance to reminisce of chances that are gone-
And agonize and analyze why I am here alone.

Alone can be a dreary place, for some, or so I'm told.
They are in need of something, or someone. they can hold.
It seems to be my lot in life, therefore I am content
To shrug away forgotten years, not wonder where they went.

I've watched a lot of years go by, watched my hair turn gray-
If people question choices made- I don't know what to say.
The thing I find most comfort in, I guess, is simply this-
You cannot change the leopards spots, a thing is what it is.