Turtle-dove

I am jealous of that turtle-dove,
Who flits from tree to dirt to sky
On wings stretched at but a thought,
For it is free and I am not.

I crave the freedom to leap
From the cliff of doubt to dreams below.
My roots,
Stretched by wanderlust,
Pull taut against barren, unmoving soil.

But is that dove truly free?
Free never to dream, hope nor love?
Let my anchored feet hold me down
And my dreams turn back to the ground,
For here I am free and it is not.