Loneliness

One of my earliest poems. I was 11 or 12.

She was walking down a dusty road,
In a quiet sort of mode.
When a cat meowed nearby,
I thought I heard her call, "Goodbye."

I saw her again by the pond,
Trying to talk with a swan.
When she left, it let a honk.
When she said, "I must be Gone."

In the forest, very near,
I heard her talking to a deer.
When she left, its young fawn bayed,
Then ran into a meadow and played.

I found her cottage beaten and worn,
With curtains that were tattered and torn.
She played with a small brown cat
While I stood on the welcome mat.

She talked to a little bee,
She was lonely, you could plainly see.
Next she sat talking to a tree,
I moved, and she came to talk to me.