she vagabond

Nothing much to define or describe the universe

that holds the certainty whether she belongs

so she wishes for a world somewhere

— for people like her —

where long letters are written to make flowers bloom

where love mysteries are pondered for a hundred years,

for always spellbound by some gracious moon

to the morning sun that smiles in her room

Her very being the only home she’s come to know

as shelter over a timid heart that’s now grown old

Though she’s bound to meet the twilight soon

the promise of unknown regions

glint to be discovered

This much alive, intense and present

the vagabond is set free forevermore.

pic2 — geena, june 2017




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