Seed of Discontent

It never stops,
The wish to be someplace else,
The world at my feet,
Yet, the restless spirit yearns,
For the innocence of youth,
To sleep after a hard days work,
To know nor worry
Neither despair its accomplice,
To know not the hunger for love,
That shines in many a vacant eyes,
Longing is a seed that grows,
And blooms into a fine tree,
Without water or manure,
And bears the fruit of discontent,
The wish to be someplace else…