How very simple life would be if there were only two of me...
A restless me to drift and roam, a quiet me to stay at home, a searching one to find his fill, of varied skies and new found thrill, while sane and homely things are done, by the domestic other one.
And that's just where the trouble lies; there is a restless me that cries, for chancy risks and changing scene, for artic blue and tropic green, for deserts with their mystic spell, for lusty fun and raising Hell! But shacked to that restless me, my other self rebelliously, resists the frantic urge to move, it seeks the old familiar groove that habits make. It finds content with hearth and home dear prisonment...with candle light and well loved books and treasured loot in dusty nooks.
With puttering and garden things, and dreaming while a cricket sings, and all the while the the restless one insists on more exiting fun.
It wants to go with every tide, no matter where... just for the ride. Like yowling cats the two shall brawl until I have no peace at all.
One eye turns to the forward track, the other eye looks sadly back. I'm getting walleye'd from the strain, it is tough to have an idle brain.
But one says "stay" and one says "go", and one says "yes" and one says "no", and one self wants a home and wife, and one self craves the drifters life.
The Restless Fellow always wins, I wish my folks had made me twins.
The double life