At night when lovers copulate

   they unrewarded see

     how fruitless is their lonely search

         for pleasure’s misery


I owe to none my mind’s own thoughts

   and no one thinks of me

     except a happy little lark

        that chirps its note there in a tree


I am a lonely vagabond

   who wanders far to flee

     the horrid bonds of fettering love

         my heart from all is free


Winnipeg, 1961

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