As my wanderlust ink runs wild to kiss
The ruffling parchment waiting to embrace
The words do spill never a chance to miss
To win the accolades and the wight’s praise
My gypsy soul is ready to traverse
Exploring every pore
Be it a place where wildflowers grow
Or the sweet cave of emotions.
Let me win the stars not posthumously
But swaddle in the state of gloried bliss
With the soul leaping out of its journey
As my wanderlust ink runs wild to kiss.
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