Nineteen houses, not wanting to count any more,
From when memories stuck, pack-move-unpack,
This has been rythmic, like clockwork, a chore,
plppp, knowing life and its flow never ceasing,
We're waiting for the next whirl, the next sally.
Unknowing, the time that's taking away our casing,
Getting us out of our comfort, away from our ally.
At the mercy of people, who do not let us stay,
Though we want to, like with a ball, they do play,
Even when we feel it better, if us they slay.
We've been nomads, no ones been shy about,
We tried to settle, but still they don't let our shout,
Rally all nomads like us, that's their clout.
©enoshcp
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