She was born to travel,
To move from town to town
And to sit around the campfire
Sharing the unshiny gifts of the road
With forever friends whom she just barely met.
But for now, she’s bound up at home
With the care of little ones.
Domesticity.
What a curse, and what a blessing,
For one whose heart longs to be moving,
Whose soul needs the deep green of the redwoods
And the perfect clear blue of the Caribbean Sea.
What a curse, and what a blessing,
To sacrifice the thing she is
So that her little ones
Might be.
