With a gypsy's soul barely contained inside,
and itchy feet bursting forth with wanderlust
She couldn't stay long, though who knew if she even tried.
She had a home but the suitcase that she carried never caught dust.
She'd walk into town one day and there she'd decide to reside
But in a week or so, she'd walk back out unable to adjust.
She waited for those who loved her in the same way as time and tide-
that is to say not at all. She just came and went. And went and went.
One sticky, lazy day she'd go out to collect everything she'd lent
settle her bills, pack her bags and when there was nothing left to do,
She'd give us vague smiles and promises to write letters (that would never be sent)
She'd leave with her itchy feet and aching soul to somewhere like London or Purdue.
She never stayed long. Never more than a month's worth of rent.
And when she'd leave, she'd leave us with hearts torn anew.
But when she was present, she was a gift heavensent.
And despite the heart-break I looked forward to the days when she came out of the blue.
Okay, that's me trying something sad. It's not exactly unrequited love but it is unequal love.
