smell the fresh breeze
of the wind that blows
through the mesquite
things that once stood in your way
are mile markers from another day
you trade one metropolis for another
getting closer to your dream
those back home think you're a fool
not fitting into the scheme of things
you put on your boots and cowboy hat
throw your stuff into your truck
what you leave fades into the past
what they think doesn't matter much
you just can't get West fast enough
as the mile markers fall behind
if you had stayed, your spirit would die
how could they all be so blind
Poetry by M.J.B. is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License
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