He is apart,
In his own little world, watching us from afar.
And we like to believe that he is thinking.
Who knows, because he hardly talks about it.
When he opens his mouth, it's for a question.
Or a thought or a feeling, locked up in a joke.
In a clown's disguise.
And we sit and don't mind.
But sometimes we are wasting thoughts on him
And maybe even have the heart
To make him a little bit better than he is.