Below is the poem entitled My Song which was written by poet
Comstock. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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This old world gets awful lonesome and cold.
And some days it leaves me feeling broken down and old.
And since I’ve spent the better part of my life alone,
I guess I’ll just live out the rest of it on my own.
So I just hum out an old familiar tune.
I sing to my self, myself and the man in the moon.
It’s the sound of a whiperwill, singin from a willow tree.
It’s the wind a blowin, across the plain wild and free.
That’s my song and it’s playin just for me.
I never wrote down the words, but I’ve been singin it all my life long.
It’s carried me down the road, and onto my way home.
So I sing to my self, when this old world leaves me feeling all alone.
It’s the song I’ve been writing all my life,
And it carries with it, all my pain and strife.
It’s the one thing I have when there’s nothing left to hold.
And the music comes together as the story is told.
Even though it’s a sad lonesome sound.
It keeps my feet standing when there’s no one around.
I’ve known for a while the only thing I’ll ever have is m.
I guess that’s the way the Maker, intended it to be.
No one to hold onto but no one to hold me down.
This is the life that I have found.
So I just keep on singin my song
And it keeps me going, so I can stay strong.