Through white lattice, out on the porch in August
Fog surrounds, rain dripping from oak leaves, plop
Dew-soaked silvery grass longs to wanderlust
But alas, 'tis stuck in the same whistlestop
Watching the world speed by under those cloudy skies
Wondering what lies on the bright side and applies
That human life which lives in denial's strife
When wanderlust flows in the veins of an oldwife
Oldwife- a prating old woman, a gossip
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