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.
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