The wild turning wind buffets my days
I can still see them all in the dust and the haze
Those who helped and those that held back
It all seems a dream like a midsummer’s nap
I travel the byways blinded by tears
It’s the dust in my eyelids and all the fears
For a woman grows old and suitors are few
No one to take care of or take care of you
Then at long last I find the last inn
The door was all creaky and the room smelled of gin
Still a warm bed to lie in, some comfort, some pride
Taking a break from the merry go round ride
My Gifted Life 