The Lost Tribe

How long, how long must I regret?
I never found my people yet;
I go about, but cannot find
The blood-relations of the mind

Through my little sphere I range,
And though I wither do not change;
Must not change a jot, lest they
Should not know me on my way.

Sometimes I think when I am dead
They will come about my bed,
For my people well do know
When to come and when to go.

I know not why I am alone,
Nor where my wandering tribe is gone,
But be they few, or be they far,
Would I were where my people are!"
— Ruth Pitter