So many years I toed the line, 
Obeyed the rules – and it was fine.
I kept my story neat and clean and orderly and mild;
A row of gravestones marks my past. 
Perhaps I ought to live at last;
I’ve been demure and dead, 

     So give me wild –

With wild hair and wild stare 
And wild flowers everywhere
Blown riotous by wild winds swept down from wild hills;
A wild thought, a wild ride,
Abandoned to the wild inside. 
The Wild is dangerous - but perfect kills.