Footloose and fancy-free,
that's the way he used to be.
Never tied down to just one place.
Always a smile on his face.
Forever ready to take on the world
wherever it was that it unfurled.
But as so many days went by
he now forgot just how to fly.
His footloose feet were flat on the ground.
His feet were always tired he found.
For they were thickly mired.
No more was he inspired
to move from where he was.
the way a young man does.
For what he had become
almost made him numb.
Couldn't remember how it felt
when he'd been young and svelte.
So now he traveled in his mind,
traveled back so he could find
unburdened days and vitality
to moments where he still could see
himself footloose and fancy-free
and revel in his history.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem