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  1. The wanderer follows
    No hallowed path
    Set forth for her
    By the sagacious few.
    Nor does she live
    To build her past
    For far off futures
    Whose seeds are sewn.

    No familiar face
    Has she ever seen
    That greets her where
    She decides to sleep,
    But travels with
    The wind in her hair:
    The only companion
    She chooses to keep.

    All empires return
    To dust that birthed
    Them from the nothingness
    Of barren ground,
    And push the ambitious
    To build them tall
    For fleeting futures
    On foundations unsound.

    Such men still laugh
    At one like her
    Who possesses nothing
    In their eyes,
    And lives in chaos
    Of shifting destiny
    With no respect
    For human lies.

    But no future goal
    Controls her fate,
    Nor worldly tethers
    Bind her past,
    So she is free
    To contemplate
    Her relation to
    The earth so vast.

    She is the dust
    from God’s fingers
    that’s fallen on
    Ungrateful land
    And shows the blind
    And sinful people
    Their origin from
    The present at hand.

    They deride and mock
    Or at best ignore her
    And value what God
    Did not confer
    But she is more
    than the earth and sky
    And none can take
    What belongs to her.