Dust-covered two-lane highways Catch the footfalls of my meanderings. Meadowlarks and Phoebe-birds Sing backup to my tuneless whistles. Clouds illuminated by God-rays Paint the sky above my head And the Man in the Moon Smiles as I bed neath a willow for the night.
I am a wanderer, a vagabond, a ***. The iron wrought train tracks I secretly ride pass through the fields, The forests, the mountains and valleys, The cities and suburbs, the small towns too, Home to so many who choose there to dwell. But my home is the open countryside, The fields of wildflowers and bushes, The occasional oak or poplar for shelter, With a stone for my pillow Anywhere I wish to rest.
I am a wanderer, a vagabond, a ***. I am the outsider.