• I may look like I've lost it, left behind;
    The empty weariness of those left to suffer
    But I carry my Atlas-like burden still,
    Though keep it concealed beneath my cloak
    The worn fibres in which I am tougher.
    I may be tough now, though when I lay to rest tonight,
    I must take off my cloak and travelling boots - Mayn't I lay down?
    Comfy, yet agonisingly still and silent once more.