Malingering

Posted on by randomwordbyruth

The streets that I stray…

dusty with emerald mystery.

Still they call my name.

All thoughts and fears…

pebbled with blind trust.

To be a wild winged bird…

I would not know where to start.

To whisper into the wind…

I would not know where to begin.

…

Drifting has become a part of my woolen and woodsy need to be there.

With every nesting squirrel.

With all wild lingerers…

I roam just to be.

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