A True Wanderer

Where goes the wind? Over the cold mountains, crossing old wild streams, dried over time, moved all ancient tribes away. Where goes the wind? Under the light pigeon wings, carrying the messages of love and war, secrets all spilled, blood ran dry on the guillotine. Where goes the wind? In the whispers of two wise drunkards, intoxicated on the fermented grapes, picked from the farm land, sold for the worth of days labor. Where goes the wind? Through the passing time, when love was still real for us, wisdom of the old was all a lie, promises of eternity vanished in vain. Where goes the wind? Over the oceans across. Across the borders of burdened men. Burdened by the wisdom of all in silence. Silently through the passage of time.