The Solitary

Jonas Hallgrimsson

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Over scarp, over fen,
over gully and glen
I have gone on the feet of the breeze,
ever meaning to find
an abode for my mind
in the mountains and valleys and seas.

But I found not a one,
all the places were gone,
they were packed with the living and dead.
Now I live all alone
in a lodge of my own
where the licking flames are red.

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