One pace north and my kisses are dry
My family waves, the townspeople cry.
Make them proud, return with riches,
Be a good boy, fulfill their wishes.

Ten paces north and the crowd resigns
As I walk past the trees, new oaks and old pines.
I see my family and still hear their clamour,
Hoping to one day return with glamour.

A hundred paces north and I am the road
I know of no county, I have no home.
No longer faces, no longer names,
Empty holes in my pocket as is in my brain.

Countless paces and I'm back where I've started,
Rejoining again with the town I once parted.
Years of travel have weathered my name,
What the road did to me did to my home the same.

So this, I am told, is the traveler's woe,
What was once a warm home is now a cold cove.
I remember the place, though the names are forgotten,
The proud boy died on the road he had trodden.