They had their life,

their short time,

and their own pretty prison.

Their clothes of conformity,

and their halls of confinement,

cannot contain the wild in this wandering soul.

I often feel the world beyond,

When my feathered wings can finally spread,

and of this world I dream, and am fond.

The sunkissed skin,

the sails not slacked,

No, I don’t think I’m ever going back.

There is life in this heart,

and with it beats,

people, and culture, and everything seen.

The colors, the smells, and the flavors swirl,

through my mind and my lightened soul.

Yes, this is the life for a wandering girl.

The gentle sea sees me along,

as I glide toward new waters,

and to new undiscovered songs.

The sky above and the dust below,

have seen many on this wandering path.

And I am but a slave unto it’s will,

and I shall live serve it well.

This dream I dream is all I have,

while this chain of the present digs into my life.

And in this cage the poor bird is contained,

Waiting for her dream to come true.