The Traveler

I once met an old traveler , He said; "Do it for you and yourself". Weightless in speech, deep as roots of a Shepherd tree. A torn wailing clothe reached out for change or a mere patch, but the flesh reluctantly ignores. The old traveler spoke his mind. Wool bearer bleats ease on streets, naive and totally unconcerned about their outfit and integrity. The old traveler spoke his mind. No need sacrificing what has life for what is long gone. Yet a stubborn fly, over dined. The old traveler spoke his mind. Reflective images look alluring whether far or near, but conversely, a huge debt blow. Again, the old traveler spoke his mind. "Will I be remembered as a traveler, or 'just' a traveler"? He asked ? And then, I heard footsteps silently echo away into thin air.