No permanent home no mobile phone he doesn't need any of that
All that he needs, all that he wants carried in a bag on his back
No hot morning shower to brighten his day just a dip in an icy cold stream
He wanders the byways and small country roads seeking to fufill his dreams
He needs no soft bed under a roof just a grassy bed under the moon
Far does he travel the small country roads, he needs no bus train or tram
He's quite content with the life that he chose, the life of a wandering man
No beer or fine wines will he ever drink, for him cool clean water is fine
His dinner food that nature provides so no worries about earning a wage
His life is an unfinished book, each new day the start of an unwritten page
He's content living this way under the sun and the stars
He knows it will end as for all men it must when he finally writes the last page
I've reposted this in response to Travelers Hobo poem, I've called him a wanderer and all countries have them