I love to travel and to loom,
With leisure in our hotel room,
Away from home it is a must,
Dear solitude; a wanderlust.
With you my friend my lovely bride,
My travel buddy by my side,
We journey and shake off the dust,
Enveloped in our wanderlust.
It could be near or far off place,
We fly away and leave no trace,
A will to wend in constant trust,
Within the wake of wanderlust.
The countryside, Paris or Rome,
Together close we’re always home,
Our sign in hand, “It’s ‘There’ or Bust,”
A wonderland; our wanderlust.
Peter Lowell Paulson
November 4, 2011
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