I’ve moved so many times; I’m a rover.
Some years I move more than once. Usually
It’s every three. Trying to discover
The reason for my roving’s not easy;
I’ve got kids, so I do have family.
I think it’s restlessness: when my feet itch
I satisfy their curiosity.
At times a woman may have been a bitch.
My getting hitched has sometimes seemed a hitch
To my selfish ambitions: all over,
I feared, if I stayed put. When I’d got free,
However, inspiration seemed less rich,
Thrashing around in freedom’s wine, mover
No more. Now, a hand reaches out for me.
Sat 3 Mar 2007
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