I ought to be with you. That's what my soul
Insists upon; and I can't say it's wrong.
In fact it states my purpose and my goal,
The ultimate for which all wishes long.
Yet I am not with you, my sense insists,
And I in right cannot deny the same.
So what's the reason, reason then persists,
Why we are far? And who can be to blame?
No one I reply; no blame at all.
Merely misfortune, and soon rectified.
I will come running shortly to your call,
And ere I notice it be by your side.
Yet heart and soul repeat: this may be true,
But now I'm not and I should be with you.
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