UNTITLED

I want to live alone
—said Pepe—
to stop them combing and washing me,
and Marita on hearing this:
Alone? After a while you’ll get lost
and then cry.
Thus spoke the children
and, thought I, their father:
one that lives alone
gets lost, cries alone and no-one hears them;
and alone: who doesn’t live alone?
Alone we live all,
each one in their own self,
solitude, nothing more, is our life;
we all go forth lost and weeping;
no-one hears us.