Wondering Stranger

Wondering is something I do a lot of. I wonder because I have no one to love. Sometimes I say I’m a wondering stranger and walk around, With nothing but anger. I sit outside looking above cold and shivering On my hat and gloves. I ask myself, "What is happening to me?” I’m trying so hard to keep my dignity. Oh, why am I a wondering stranger? Maybe I can find myself; If I could lose this anger.