Roots and fruits

Sisters and daughters fly away;
So do sons and brothers,
Like cousins and friends
All grow wings and leave the nest.

Nurtured feathers grow up under care,
The time comes when they mature
And wish to see and hear things new,
Tread fresh paths and find one’s way.

No chain, no fetters, can hold them back,
Not of iron, or the heart strings,
When the time comes, the cocoon yields,
After all, baby butterflies should be seen.

Some stay back, others come back,
Because the string stretched a little,
To roost the night or grow new roots,
Or to use new wealth for the good of all.

When you clip your wings to stay put,
You may think…so why not?
For the love of the land, the dust of birth,
Is more than good enough for a great living.

Home is where the heart is, it’s said,
Break not a heart, break not a home,
But do go where the heart leads,
You are sure to find a home away from home.

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