A "Gentlemen of the road" no longer seen but still remembered
England's roads and country lanes,
Through villages and hamlets,
With unusual sounding names,
Sometimes I rest my weary bones,
In a haystack or a barn,
I eat my fill of berries, wild,
Drink the water from a tarn
I roam through all the counties,
Take a day's work where I may,
Work hard and long but then move on,
Though now more oft I yearn to stay.
For I live the life of a vagabond
a hobo some say a tramp
Outdoors in all sorts of weather
The hot, the cold, the damp
To hike across a moor land,
Ford a river or a stream,
To lay amongst the heather
Take a nap perchance to dream,
To wander through the forests,
Where there's rabbits boar and deer
They know I will not harm them,
There's nought from me to fear
I've wandered far and wandered wide,
For three score years and ten,
And if god allowed me a second life
I would live it all the same, again
So what is to become of me?
When my wandering days are done,
I'll lay and rest beneath a grand old oak,
Fall asleep, stay asleep, and sleep on.
****
If you happen upon a stooped old man
His whole world in one small pack,
He may be roaming off again,
He may well be wandering back,
He lives his life in the great outdoors
Please don't stare or gawk or goad,
A tramp, a hobo, a vagabond?
No a gentleman of the road.
Poetry by Albert
Read 888 times
Written on 2005-12-05 at 01:19
Tags Happiness Hope Nature
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A gentleman of the road
I've roamed as if forever,England's roads and country lanes,
Through villages and hamlets,
With unusual sounding names,
Sometimes I rest my weary bones,
In a haystack or a barn,
I eat my fill of berries, wild,
Drink the water from a tarn
I roam through all the counties,
Take a day's work where I may,
Work hard and long but then move on,
Though now more oft I yearn to stay.
For I live the life of a vagabond
a hobo some say a tramp
Outdoors in all sorts of weather
The hot, the cold, the damp
To hike across a moor land,
Ford a river or a stream,
To lay amongst the heather
Take a nap perchance to dream,
To wander through the forests,
Where there's rabbits boar and deer
They know I will not harm them,
There's nought from me to fear
I've wandered far and wandered wide,
For three score years and ten,
And if god allowed me a second life
I would live it all the same, again
So what is to become of me?
When my wandering days are done,
I'll lay and rest beneath a grand old oak,
Fall asleep, stay asleep, and sleep on.
****
If you happen upon a stooped old man
His whole world in one small pack,
He may be roaming off again,
He may well be wandering back,
He lives his life in the great outdoors
Please don't stare or gawk or goad,
A tramp, a hobo, a vagabond?
No a gentleman of the road.
Poetry by Albert
Read 888 times
Written on 2005-12-05 at 01:19
Tags Happiness Hope Nature
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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