She was born to travel,

To move from town to town

And to sit around the campfire

Sharing the unshiny gifts of the road

With forever friends whom she just barely met.

But for now, she’s bound up at home

With the care of little ones.

Domesticity.

What a curse, and what a blessing,

For one whose heart longs to be moving,

Whose soul needs the deep green of the redwoods

And the perfect clear blue of the Caribbean Sea.

What a curse, and what a blessing,

To sacrifice the thing she is

So that her little ones

Might be.