Glancing Out

Glancing out, the mountains call Sweet freedom is my friend. She beckons and I hear her call, Whose acquaintance has no end. Toes are itching, bouncing, But contained inside these shoes- Such great parts long to hear Poems amidst the truth. But also- yes, there is a wait, The ticking, tocking sounds. The metronomes of little frogs Keeping time with freedom’s song. Like snoring, they are only heard By those they keep awake- For the ones who hear the little frogs Know what’s behind the gate. Yes- I can hear the song of freedom sung, But should I wait to hear the frogs, Life truly has begun. So here thanksgiving rules And here I will await- As the freedom I still long to see Will remain behind the gate. For it belongs, and I in it, to the giver, not the child; And in the gift, I will choose to walk within the wild.