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...
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