The Wanderer
Somewhere beyond the lengths of time
I wrote a verse, a little rhyme.
He wandered out in winter's clime.
And ended up in Anaheim,
Fast on the road to Disney Land.
That little one so newly done,
Confronted by the wealth of fun,
Into a fairy tale was spun.
But of free passes had not one.
His trip it seems was not well planned.
I longed for the sweet rhyme I'd lost
And wondered if he was star-crossed.
I searched for him despite the cost,
All avenues vowed to exhaust,
Located him by big bandstand.
I showed my little verse my heart
And told him we must never part.
I think I had known from the start
He was my perfect piece of art.
And was the work of mind and hand.
August 22, 2014
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