As One Keeps Traveling

As one keeps traveling, One keeps marveling; Little cause to be sniveling, Still less to be driveling For the stupendous much one had seen; Not anymore The Horn “Unequivocal Green.” Yes, for having met with a lot, For the most part encountering the hot, Naturally mocking what one had got. A richness that from the eyes draws mist, Childish stuff ones previous treasured list And, I swear, jotters of some journalist. Such traveler, though, keeps ageing, His system wordlessly raging, As it continues to seem a Methuselah’s Or like A Drunk’s often in cellars. Who could escape seeming weather-beaten And the unluckier traveler rust-eaten?