by Tim Cote '18
Stranded, deserted, a traveler to die,
Why oh why do I do sigh?
Not acquaintance of mine nor I of you,
Yet still that sting does pierce through.
Desperate to search for my own lie,
Unknown to me of what truly grew.
Oh that sting, oh so sly,
Best not know'st to me the truth.
Stranded, deserted, a traveler died,
Why oh why do I still sigh?