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“What of the firefly,
the one I love to chase?
The old man smiled
Love her
he said
but leave her wild,
and the old oak tree I love to climb?
Love her, he said, but leave her wild
the bird that sings that song I love?
Love her, he said, but leave her wild
and the wolf that cries to the old joke moon?
Love her, he said, but leave her wild
and the horse that loves to run with storms?
Love her, he said, but leave her wild.
And what of her,
the one I love most?
And the old man smiled.
Yes, he said,
you must love her too
but love her wild
and she’ll love you”

― Atticus Poetry, Love Her Wild