A lost and lonely wayfarer she was;
bereft of destination, no shelter over her head;
no cloud to give her cover.
Her ears strained for a familiar sound;
a gentle whisper of a friendly voice;
or lilting tune of a gentle song.
But nothing there was in that haunting void.
No song, no whisper, no friend.
She was like a victim of her own;
a captive to her haunting ego.
Her towering, torturing ego,
forbade her from making friends;
lesser mortals weren't her cup of tea.
She must, now, pay the wages of her ego;
and be content to live in the wilderness of her self.