A stray hay tossed by the wind,
Freedom or confinement it knows not.
A longing, so deep inside,
The ground or the breeze cannot fathom.
The ground seems inevitable,
Whilst the wind seemingly alters reality.
A setting sun with a blue sky,
May just be the highlight of its existence.
On air it takes flight: See what’s beneath,
On ground, it gets trampled.
Security or enchantment seems out of reach,
Yet with a sunset it appears to glimmer.
Yet with a sunset it appears to glimmer,
Yet with a sunset it appears to glimmer,
Till the night comes and it gets dimmer,
Till the night comes and it gets dimmer.
Ever wan·der 