Tis lonely to live,
A man of many friends.
Who always talk and listen,
About all under the crescent.
But ghosts be they, so far,
Never to touch or hug.
A man of many friends,
But none he can see.
YOU ARE READING
Often confusing
PoesíaSecond part to a muses musings because wattpad has a story limit. . . I mean an enthralling book of stories
