A wanderer with no home The way without road Had rotten by sicknes And legs're going float
I'm walking the woods and the fields I've not knowed I meet up the persons, who've taken by turmoil I'm looking desireless to treasures of toil In case that their souls took corruption and spoils
My only follower Is my lonley shadow And eyes have been closed By grey hair's pay down
My only own package Is staff and old note book Which I will write down For other's mind forelook
I'll stay in a harsh land with cold wind and passions There's no place for bards with their thoughtless regressions There'll be only me and a century pinetrees Replace up the building of steel and my blindness
In hovel my body Get warned by fire And well with fresh water Will cool the heart's dire
I'll put my old staff in a snowdrift with dashes When my robe is almost converted to ashes Then I will transform in a cold river's flowing And flow down too far to remember the calling