A dusty old town-so quiet
a man, a traveler
takes off his pack-so heavy
and reclines for a rest.
they dont know his name, they never do
they wont even bother to ask
he troubles them-his mysterious past
leads them to prejudiced views
but were one to ask, for if naught but a name
what would this traveler say- would he speak?
a word, no. a name, he would give them and pass
"Im Wanderer, the world is my street."
Wanderer-what a name
does it signify much of his life
or is it a code- a cypher?
an enigma to his past.
Copyright © Hannah Stiles-Culver | Year Posted 2011