A silent storm beneath the beds
Of them asleep on satin
The vagabond goes beyond the lands
In search of a rose or Latin
He goes beyond, he rows and strides
In search of what he knows not
Beyond the horizon to parts unknown
He strides through war and peace
To the world’s end where prophets beckon
The vagabond is now beyond us
My satchel now chock-a-block
A word to my kin, Mother Nature
The vagabond now brews within me
I take a path for the stranger
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