Life’s meaning’s lost and Time’s the same:

My dreaming goes on, as does the rain.

Thoughts are a guided path that is ignored:

I’ll choke my stony wrath which once had roared.

Love is a route that’s full of snares:

A spiny pike which leaves some tears.

I’ve tried to be someone I’m not,

But now I see I’m just a dot.

I matter not, which is no lie:

I’ll be no one when I die.

(written in 1965)