Headed east, but wanting to go west to frontiers of country-western
music, hot arid weather, deserts and their fastidious mountains,
coming home throughout the years, learning more on each escapade.
Being free and at liberty beneath skies of blue, usually not a cloud
in the sky above, dust storms traversing across the canyons of wanton
exercises of an interior wish.
Hopes building and mounting in caverns and tops of mountains, happy
to be alone to move freely in arid deserts where life is free and can do most anything in years of a lifetime without rules, laws or
ordinances to interfere at all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem