I just started reading a new book called Through Painted Deserts, which inspired me to write this poem.

If I were a wanderer,
A gypsy, casting all worldly
Goods aside to live outside
Of walls, only the sky as
My ceiling and
Grass as carpet,
I would watch stars
Cutting holes of light
Through the night
Burning without knowledge
Of their beauty
We are all really
Vagabonds,
Gypsies, and wanderers
In this glorious life.