Wayward

Now she's here and now she's there, flittering and flying through the hours in a day, laughing now, then crying. Her moods are fleeting, they grasp her in a flash then just as fast they fizzle like a firework in the rain. Would that she were constant like the moon! self-directed, self-assured, without a care, but she is wayward, ever flickering, fluttering, floundering, more there than anywhere.