The One Who Wears My Ring
The old Roman stones were rough,
The nearby streets hustling bustling,
With the downtown baazar filled with stuff,
I’m found wanting.
Though the blue sea and its warmth does please,
The carpets of Anatolia do spark wonder,
One can live life here quite at ease,
But still for one thing do I hunger.
Fascination is filling its appetite,
And my eyes are filled with new sights,
Curiosity is overwhelmed with the number
Of unexplored corners, and unknown streets.
But when all is still and well,
The buses and taxis have had their fill,
When the fishermen have no fish to sell,
I’m found wanting one thing, still.
If I could travel even more…
If I could try the world’s foods…
If I could meet the most interesting people…
If I could see the oldest ruin…
I would still be found wanting this one thing.
In man’s pursuit of beauty in all the land,
All he wants is to walk with her, hand in hand.
Though the world interest, curiosity, and fascination bring
Only let me be with the one who wears my ring.