Vagabond

He was set out in this world, as though by fate, by someone, He sets himself out, on a trip accompanied by none! He travels from place to place through mountains, hills, and valleys, He feels no fear meting out gloom-terrifying alleys! As a laborer, he works, when traveling to survive, Spends his nights in a gypsy tent to continue his strife! He talks to the sun and clouds, while he works during the day, Counting stars at night, from the moon he does not shun away! When others inquire of his country, he does not tell well, He knows, yet, it does exist, as sure as extant of hell! He talks to grasses or flowers just as a mystic does, When he fails to get answers, he does not make any buzz! Not an explorer, he explores; not a singer he sings, He's a harmonious rhythm in the cosmos, he thinks! When someone asks about going home he asks: to which home? He thinks till he finds his true meaning of home, he should roam! To the place from where he set himself out, he might not go, Yet, the call of the setter of his goal, could he forgo? Seeker! Finder! A vagabond is truly paramount! He might not speak or write! His wisdom does earnestly count…!! 17 November 2021 ''V'' New or Old Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Constance La France