Free to let My Beard Grow, a poem by Mark Tulin

Crow On The Wire

I may live unsheltered,
not knowing when my next meal
will come;
my shoes may have holes in its soles
and my pride ripped and torn,
but I have no care in the world.
I’m free of convention,
free of the balls and chains
that restrict and bind.

Don’t feel sorry
when you see me pulling a cart
across a busy street
‘cause I’m free to let my beard grow,
free to collect bottles and coins,
free to walk at my own pace
without a clock to control my time.
Nothing’s chasing me.
Nothing’s stopping me 
from exercising my personal liberty.

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