Wandering Poem by Ruth Gordon

The ground moves beneath my feet
As I pad down another street
None have known where I have gone
They observe my figure lone

Traveling like a gypsy
Perhaps a little tipsy
Observing my surroundings without a thought
And I know not naught
But the taste of the fresh night
The clouds dancing with the moon light
Will always make a cryptic sight

A flow of movement to be free
Just content to be
Without tasks obtrusive
Reality is elusive