I wonder as I sit here lonely, waiting for awhile;
the road winds on through endless hills for many a weary mile.
The sun is bright, the grass is green, and every bird but you
sings sweet its song to the evening skies before the day is through.
'Tis summer here, but across the world, the winter rages fierce—
howling winds and heavy clouds that drop forth silver tears.
Have you a friend in that cold land where shadows dance and leap
who’s tossed about and looks in vain for somewhere warm to sleep?
Who hungers long for food and song, for someone to call friend,
waiting for the endless days and nights to finally end?
Walks he among the thistledown or in the deepest snow
where highways meet, though swards of green had grown there long ago?
My friend, like yours, looks desperately for but a place to stay
When night creeps up and cold sets in, and ended is the day.
Eyes staring from a haunted, hollow face, he hunts in vain—
he and others waiting for an end to all their pain.
Will someone help him? No, not I; he dwells too far away—
Across the ocean, many miles—not I, here I shall stay.
Let someone else more kind and good than I help him get by,
while I close my eyes and turn away when he lies down to die.