They Call Him Hippie

There's earth beneath his feet.
Some say he's filthy,
but he's made friends will a life you ought to meet.

Freedom flows through locks of hair-
the only thing about him tangled.

He knows and addresses by name the stars.
He sees a world much different than ours.

In the rain he stands and welcomes trickling strands
of water to kiss down his face.
A not so illusive grace has replaced his chains
binding those who choose a different space.

His eyes, wide open,
gaze to the sky in love affair.
All he needs he finds right there-
those who don't see just stop...and stare.

They call him Hippie.