Her heart is of a vagabond, she’ll always feel alone
Her spirit, from a gypsy, she’ll never find her home.
Her soul is from the troubadour, who’s given all he had
Her life? The weary warrior, left broken, bruised, and sad…
Where then, comes the courage for what she has to face?
Where comes the endurance, with which to run the race?
And when will come the ending … where she must try no more?
Where, the record keeper – pray tell, who’s keeping score?
She shudders in the darkness and at night the teardrops fall
A seldom smile from memories, what ones she can recall
It would take a life to tell, and still, no one would understand
She shakes her head and mumbles, “This isn’t what I planned” …
Then gathers all the pieces, they are broken, but she knows
She needs to keep them with her, no matter where she goes
For somewhere in her wildest dreams, one day someone will come
Who’ll love her for who she is now, not what she’s been or done…
One day, it will not matter, except to God alone…
When the persons of this life stay here, and Heaven becomes “Home”
And when her very name is called…then she will know God knew…
And she has been forgiven, for all that she’s been through.