A Pretentious Little Poem About Freedom

We're at the mountain's peak,

a cold and breezy place.

Your wide smile

somehow timid

and soft;

And I scream to the threetops,

"We are the kings of our own lives!"

And you giggle.

You take my hand,

and your words tickle my ears:

"Freedom

is in the tiny things;

It creeps along

in the needful things.

"When you want an apple

so badly that it hurts,

or when you scrape your knee

on your favorite hickory tree.

"Freedom

is the right to lose your voice,

or bruise your face

on the pavement,

to redden your cheeks

or embarass your parents

at the grocery store."

Freedom,

I think,

has got to be More.