She is a solemn wanderer,
A daughter of the road
The crunch of moving gravel
Is like balm upon her soul.

Each rambling, easy footstep,
Within each languid stride,
Keeps the poison thoughts
From taking root inside her mind.

Each footstep is a triumph
That pushes her along
Each gasping breath that fuels her
Is a lyric to her song.

At times she is a vagrant
When there is no place to go
When nothing feels familiar but
The stone that coats the road.

At times she is a traveler
That thirsts for foreign lands
Her mind drifts off to mountain sides,
Or golden sprawling sands.

And most times she’s a dreamer
Thinking of the day
She’ll let her restless, resolute legs
Take her far away.

In all, she is a wanderer,
A daughter of the road
Putting space between her thoughts
Upon the open road.