Me aged ten

Once a free spirit
Free to roam the barren land
Did I envisage the future I was to inherit
A future written on sand
Written with ease
With a stroke of a stick
Then blown away with a breeze
Which made me sick

Did my wings get clipped
When I reached ‘God’s own country’
Or merely was I tripped
When I thought everything was going to be rosy
New languages to study
New friends to meet
When life started to get muddy
Instead of getting sweet.

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