The art of leaving

The wintry winds have brought with it
 the ancient lores Abok-Ahanbi would tell you
 to ease you to sleep

The story of the seven wise men of yore

Who shapeshifted into birds and flew away

When the king gave the decree

 To burn all our ancient books,

There is an art to leaving,you are thinking,

Because sometimes that is all there is left to do

Because partly hardly wildly

you are still looking for a great adventure

 to set out to and in your heart of hearts,

 in your dream of dreams,

you know this is not where the story ends

So you leave with a spell whispered

Because wild hearts can never be tamed,

Only loved, only craved.