I keep moving around
Always moving, never still
Not to be held against my will
Afraid, to gather moss

Birds carry my seeds across
Plant them in lands afar
but my seeds, they are
afraid, to take root

Like an old forgotten boot
Not your size, not a fit
My sole is always split
Afraid, of the needle’s ire

Not a monk devoid of desire
I wear my heart up my sleeve
but my shoulder is not to greive
Afraid, of learing to swim

For I fly away on a whim
A snowy owl you can’t see
Moving at night, sneakily
Afraid, to be found

So, I keep my eyes on the ground
Afraid, of love if I stare
Scared, of you being there
Afraid, perhaps, of being happy.

Art: Caspar David Friedrich - MOnk by the Sea (1809)