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.
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