poetry

Wonder Feet, Wander Streets.

Wanderer, wanderer, wanderer
When will you go home? I wonder.
Streetlamps will slumber soon
but you hesitate not, in your wander.
Trust in the path lead by gibbous moon
have you passed many a sites of wonder?
Maybe crossed over the bering land?
For feet likened to an ancient’s wander.
You carry not a staff to place in sand;
Is there a haven in which you wonder,
ponder over your life in passing?
Or is it life from which you wander
with distinct personas you keep amassing?
Is ‘alien’ one which brings you much wonder?
That foreign is indigenous to the wanderer.

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2 thoughts on “Wonder Feet, Wander Streets.”

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