Tears and laughter tire me;
And people who cry, laugh with glee;
And everything which may happen as surprise;
And farmers who plant or get up at sunrise!
I am weary of hours, days, and abyss;
And all the scattered buds never see the bliss.
I am tired of ambition, power, and charm;
And everything else without alarm.
When I exhale, my breath becomes a dark cloud.
It stands like stone wall, forgets the crowd.
Should one’s breath be what mine is,
I can’t find friend to give me ease…
– Ellie –