The widower who sits
In a home for four
Watching, by himself,
Her fav’rite film once more
The daughter who stares
At the wedding portrait
Waiting in her room
For her father’s weekly visit.
The young man who fits
Like an off-note in a song,
In the neighborhood gang,
No other place to belong.
The woman who prizes
Great drive and intellect
Spends another week-
End on a work project.
The teen who regards
Her true, most loyal friends
Weathered and dog-eared
Between two old bookends.
All are like the oak that
Falls with no one around,
And, in the woods, asks
Did I make a sound?
Making It Up As I Go 