by Cecilia Wynn

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I'm searching for the world,

Up in the air it's swirled.

Society glanced back

And said it like a fact:

"Though clouds of shifting vogue,

You alone stand rogue."

Amidst this hurricane,

I could behold quite plain

What once had been my own;

But far apart we'd grown.

For, products, work, and goals

are sore remains for souls.

*Picture not by me