The Road is my Home



In a stranger's haven
On a bed with a phone
Across the Atlantic
The crashing waves is my home

Gypsy of the mountains
Wanderer of the sea
There's no where in this world
I'd rather be

Than looking out a moving window
I take this ride on my own
Don't know where I'm headed
The track is my home

I change with the wind
With no name, all alone
My dear friend is the road
And the road is my home




Poetry by Rannalta Gratland
Read 795 times
Written on 2013-01-07 at 04:02

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Peter J. Kautsky
this makes me recall my former career as interstate truck driver. Really nailing it here!
2013-01-08