There once was a soul,
Who shrunk back into his hole,
Like some reclusive mole
He was alone but not lonely
His home was the whole sea,
That is called night. He stayed there,
Never wanting to see daylight.
Or did he? He wouldn’t sleep through twilight.
Only a few saw what he was.
It was good, not bad.
It made him glad, not sad.
And though he wandered all his days,
He never wasted time on plays,
That dulled his senses.
That made him hop fences.

This one tells us of a solitary man living an uncompromising life, who has very few friends, but at least they are genuine.

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