I was an only one.
A loner, a watcher, a thinker,
loved, but misunderstood.
I befriended flowers,
helped bumblebees to fly
and mourned dead birds.
Other people remained strangers to me
but I understood my pets.
An only child walks their own path.
They are the still centre of their own world,
not spoiled, not selfish,
but grounded in their own being-
a strong tower of solitude.
What should they do but watch and consider?
Where should they go but home?
Who else should they be but themselves?
Creativity is watered by seclusion.
Time spent learning how to be
safe in your own company
ensures that you will never be alone.
The ability to please yourself
and remain comfortable in the far reaches
of your own imagination
will last for a lifetime.
An only child is a gift to themselves.