2025/Freja-

Moving Again

Yet again we are moving,

And I’m restricted from rooting.

This constant moving is chaotic,

And it’s always melancholic.

I think we move a lot,

Again and again we trot,

Moving from spot to spot,

I see my friendships rot.

Me with no true home,

My life continues to roam,

Nothing is truly normal,

Though somehow conformal.

Is the end of moving in sight?

At the end of the tunnel, is there light?

Will this effect my adulthood flight?

Despite it all, my faith will be bright.