On this eve, alone I lay.
No voices to flood the chatter
or mental chorus of daily matter
that does not matter thus or this.

On this eve, alone I say.
I have never known who I am.
A bleating heart, like Mary's lamb?
And, it does not matter thus or this.

On this eve, alone I stare.
For a fool's time has been wasted.
Someone's love has been cut and pasted;
and it does not matter thus or this.

On this eve, on my knees,
I watch the wind wrestle the trees,
a forever evening is all he sees,
and it does not matter thus or this.