I just felt like writing a poem
A chance to let my mind roam
Past the window, out to the sky
To the land up there, in my mind's eye.
That twists and turns,
And toils and churns
Where I can dream of a million stars
Or travel a distance, who knows how far?
Where men and women are but dots on a page
And I, the director, behind the curtain on the stage
Perhaps I will stay,
No, I will come back another day.
I just felt like writing a poem.
Because, to me, it feels like home.
