Naive of the Native
Smiling past those deary skies,
Picture perfect in my eyes.
Hanging loose of those old roots,
Kicking the deck in my empty boots.
Up in the grizzling fire near,
I fear no fear.
And holding things not in my need,
Delusioned? Something in my heed.
Things I did in old schooling,
Being the one to and all fooling.