Song of the Tramp

I don’t mind a little dirt on the floor, tis’ better company who have been here

My clothes reek of smoke, but I’ve spent many a glorious hour by those flames

Getting by on porridge and rice humbles a man, and makes him ready for the world

The stars are my roof, wrapped in fur, and the swaying trees talk to me

My feet hoof across the pavement on longer miles than than the modest journey by car

Your packaged tours are not for me, I find the road less roamed

A mane of hair streams off my head, and my beard tangles with the mosses of hanging wood

A stranger becomes a comrade, and friends become strangers, but a mate stays forever

My heart palpitates between the awe and the woe, for it is a lonely way

I carry my burden, like a pack animal, but I keep pride in my heart every step

The relationships swell as new land comes my way, and I weather the seasons in my socks

Seas crossed, airspace roamed, rails hopped, rubber burned

A tipi, a barn, a bunkhouse, a cabin, my haunts along the way

A place to put my skulls down and make gifts from random objects I collect along the way,

Night comforts me in healing, and I hail a new day in rebirth

Where will I end up, there is an uncertainty, and I bank on it

Soundly I find solace in the sun, and make my way as I always have…

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