When they see me standing there
They wonder, "What's with all that hair?"
Then they see my headband too
And say, "Hey girl-what's up with you?
You an Indian with those moccasins?"
I shake my head with patient grins.
"So you're a hippie then, I see."
I say, "No way- I'm choice number three.
Indian or Hippie- what a choice.
I do, you know, have my own voice.
I'm sometimes one and sometimes the other.
If I chose just one, I think I'd smother.
Then sometimes I'm both and sometimes neither.
I'm something different when I need a breather."
"But what are you really supposed to be?"
"Supposed to be? I'm simply me.
You don't understand. It's not like that.
Is Santa Claus jolly because he's fat?
Well, that could be so, but it doesn't matter.
It may well be he's mad as a hatter.
I think it's just that his heart's true.
He does that which he loves to do.
He's himself, and that makes him strong.
While he's true to himself, he won't do wrong.
Be true to yourself, and that's all you need.
Be true to your friends, and you're a friend indeed."
"Do you always speak in rhyming verse?
It almost makes me want to curse.
While you're at it, why not break into song?"
And so I did- a song quite long.
A lovely song to illustrate my poem.
Then alas, they nearly ran back home.
....but that's another story.

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