Loneliness Poem by Ina D. Coolbrith
Loneliness
The waning moon was up; the stars
Were faint, and very few;
The vines about the window-sill
Were wet with falling dew;
A little cloud before the wind
Was drifting down the west;
I heard the moaning of the sea
In its unquiet rest;
Until, I know not from what grief,
Or thought of other years,
The hand I leaned upon was cold,
And wet with falling tears.
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8/29/2026 2:45:11 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
