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?
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