There’s a spirit living deep inside of me
that cannot be stifled,
it carries a weathered canvas pack,
wears woolen gloves
with holes in the fingers,
it’s denim has worn out knees,
boots are cracked leather,
topped with a faded red bandana.

It has sat in jungle downpours,
crossed wide oceans of blue,
tasted sand in the desert winds,
camped on sacred burial grounds,
seen the curvature of the Earth.

And if you knew its ways,
you’d swear it was created in pure love,
which can never die,
it can only leave footprints,
my spirit.