Ruth White


The Stranger

There is a room, well fit, with people of all kinds.
All of them having a difference of binds.
I stand among them you see.
In this off set room, not made for me.
They talk and they joke and they laugh a loud.
While I drift by them, like a weightless cloud.
There is some of the conversation I do finally get.
But when I speak, it's like I and them have never met.
What is the difference from them and me?

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