Across green hills he roamed, carefree and whistling

For he was a rover, and the road was his home.
But the wind told a sorry story today.
Not all was good,
And he didn’t know it.

He recollected, good times he’d had…
And bad,
And he wondered what happened.
To the man he sought after.
Not all was good,
He remembered it.

Now it’s late. He is tired. He is always tired
He’s going somewhere. The moon is full
A low distant groan.
The moonlit plain, his eyes careful now.
Not all was good
And he sensed it.

A flash of white, blur and shiny coat
Red spills, he is frightened and confused.
He is gone and now he’s no longer a rover.
He’s no longer anything at all to anybody.
Not all is good.