BY APRIL'S KISS
THE NOMAD
I was a seed
blown from far away,
on dandelion wings,
by April’s kiss.
My roots, they’ve yearned
for the arable fields
of a distant land,
so long forlorn.
Legs I’ve grown,
in search of the place
where I know I belong:
The home I should have called my own.
In the alpine meadow
where the daisies dance
and the heather sings,
while the lazy glacial melt
slowly bids farewell
to the shape-shifting clouds
pantomiming fairy tales.
For now,
I must be content
to be a nomad
drifting through vacuous space,
lost in time’s folds,
always seeking that greener place.
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