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A wandering lad I met one cold night
Sitting, legs crossed on the grimy sidewalk.
When he approached me, it gave me a fright
But I realized he just wanted to talk.
Dressed somewhat like a hippie, hair worn long
He told of the many places he’d seen.
Traveled with only a backpack and song
The journey started when he was fifteen.
Ten years he traveled and more years to roam.
Ten minutes he talked of hardships and fun,
Times he had missed being safe at home,
Those times he had a little too much rum.
He told me that home is where I should stay
Then he said goodnight and went on his way.