Back where I used to roam
beyond the mulberry hills
running from sudden black storms,
torrential August monsoons
soaked thoroughly through
Oh, to be a motherless child of the hills, again
quick to dance away the depths of lonely
always looking to the sea for distraction
and possibility
After a storm, I listened for life
how the hilly flowers shined, alive with bees
the birds and buzz all about the field
in a world, that was everything real to me
and made all the difference, in knowing
what it was to be free
While glints of gold skimmed the horizon
I’d dry my shoes in the last hour of the sun
dreaming to live right there, where I belonged
dreading the long dragging back home