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