The Next Thirty Years —
I simply can not decide where I wish to live out the next thirty years!
Shall I be an ant on the pavement of Manhattan or
Shall I be a planter of Iris and Mums;
Shall I walk along a slow moving stream or
Shall I climb up along the footpaths made in red clay;
Shall I breath in the crisp mountain air or
Shall my bare skin feel an ocean breeze;
Should I count on one hand my choices my fingers still would not tell my mind which it should be;
Land or Sea
Clay or Sand
Crisp or Salt
Nor would I want it to for all I want is to dream of places I wish to be but remain where I am.
(copyright material — republish with permission email@example.com)