Far away he gazes
Past polished wood and gleaming glasses
To other worlds, not his
Not his to know, not his to live.
Briefly behind his eyes a flash
Remembering their pain, and
Then is gone…
Not his to feel, not his to live
Melodious, wistful songs he hears
Songs of Joy, songs of love
From other worlds, not his
Not his to sing, not his to live.
He moves with graceful polished manners
Is one with all and one alone
He knows their worlds and chose his own
His to know, his to live.