THE WISDOM OF A ROVING HEART

The vast earth was somehow round, to be 

circled around. And feet were meant for walking. 

The mouth needed fresh provisions all the time 

and the eyes a new tree to rest under and feel 

safe about. Being a wanderer isn't luxurious.

When famine doesn't strike, human cruelty and flat 

perception does. Aimless wanderers, Immoral, 

promiscuous and disease-ridden, a nomad must 

be seen with suspicion, always. Those who live 

in permanent (is there such a thing?) houses 

know better. Always. They only take hi-tech, 

weather-proof tents when camping. 

The wanderers know something else, though. 

They know that when you circumambulate the 

earth's, perimeter, the wind, sun, soil and fire 

to you are your child's fears, your mother's tears. 

Wisdom only a no mad, roving heart can live by.