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"If one has no planned destination - One can never be lost"  ~~The Poet~~

It was in the early winter when the frost had come before the snow.
That’s the time that we would see him, with his happy glow.
He called himself a Vagabond, an old man of the earth.
He said his stories made him his living, the only thing he had of worth.
I looked forward to him coming, I think my mother did too.
After he had enjoyed lunch of Mother’s delicious rich beef stew,
We would sit out on the porch and listen to him tell his tale.
He had some splendid adventures while hiking overland and along the trail.
“What shall it be? He asked with a twinkle in his eye, 
“A swash buckling adventure, or something to make you cry?"

"Word had got around some time last year.
That a child had gone missing, his parents had great fear.
The lad was just six years old and wandered off from home.
Despite many warnings, that he never should roam.
Seems he had been missing for more than a day.
The family dog was missing too, not like it to stray.
Folks had formed search parties, searching  everywhere,
But not a trace was found, the worst was hard to bare.
Indigenous trackers joined the seeking throng.
They searched through the day and all night long.
They searched the valleys thickly dense growth.
They swore to his mother, they would find him -gave their oath.
Day turned to night again and still no sight of the boy.
Searchers, who had great expectations, sadly had no joy.
Along dried up river beds and high into the hills.
Every ravine and crevice, each possible sound gave chills.
Some thought they heard a bark or a child’s cry for help.
It was just a crow’s call as it flew by and a dingo’s yelp.
Hope was fading as the sun began to set.
The searchers still determined not to give up yet.
Then a miracle beside an old Gum tree.
A sight that was good enough to go down in history.
There asleep, in the grass was the boy and dog cuddled together.
Each was hungry and a little worse for weather,
But alive and well and an almighty cry went out to all around.
Over here, its good news, get his Mum and Dad. The boy is FOUND." 

"Well,” said the vagabond (as I have never known his name). 
“I reckon that story is worth a drink of the good stuff just the same.”
Mum went to get a whiskey and poured him half a glass.
“A bonzer story, we like to see you every time you pass.
We are isolated here and your stories fill a void.
That one with its happy ending really was enjoyed.
Now come let’s fill your knap sack before you hit the road.”
Mum busied herself packing food, she prepared a heavy load.
Then stuffed his pack with provisions till it would hardly close.
He finished his glass of drink and slowly from his seat he rose.
She slipped him a flask of dad’s whiskey (thought I didn’t see).
He said he would see us next year, if God willed it to be,
It’s a fine life to travel around, go anywhere just on a whim.
I think when I grow up, I’ll be a vagabond just like him.
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