Human in theory, the writer sits
Outside the seething, teeming human herd,
A silent observer, one who never fits,
Labelled an oddball, loner or a nerd
By those who follow common rituals,
Rituals that say they’re all the same,
Wear the same clothes, eat the same victuals,
All part of the human bonding game.
Immune to this she listens and observes,
Closely notes their tragi-comedies,
Elegantly mixes words then serves
A distillation of their tragedies.
While writers sit outside, observe and write,
Herd members read to learn and gain insight.