WANDERING AND WATCHING

A wondering soul, a Nomad I,
from the mountains,
to the waters afar. Caressing
the earth with all it's space,
the surface
by footprint to mar.
Taking leave of employment to turn,
to things
alive and away.
Knowing not and caring less of
the time or temperature
of the day.
Yes, raveling on to grassy plains,
where
Nature in supremacy reigns,
and pausing to rest by
a roadside,
whenever my own instinct deigns.
Mile under mile set by the pace
of one with no single spot
to reach.
Taking care to learn the lesson,
that the trees and flowers
take time
to teach.
Money have I none, and cares alike
have fallen beside me as I roam.
Having a priceless passion for
the salted spray
of
the ocean water's foam
Or similar to the volcanic heights
of timbers scattered O'er
the soil...
The ferocity of a wild boar's hunger...
A cottonmouth laid tight in coil.
From area to area with relentless pursuit,
I move
along my chosen path,
oftimes surrendering to elements
of weather-
rainfall's descending wrath.
Arising in dawn to behold the change
the brilliance
of the sun's
torrid blaze...
and the rain's post morning liquids,
upon the grass
creating a wetted glaze.
Taking my food from the store at hand,
the finery
of berries on the bough,
and following each morsel
with refreshment from the brook,
which beside
my hand doth flow.
I rest, but brief, and move again,
to the roads in life unknown to most,
bareback, and glad
turning bronze in the glow,
riding atop the walk, in speechless
boast.
Choosing no route in particular to tread,
but following the stops of one un-aimed, Becoming
a small,
but noticeable part
of my environment by Nature
claimed.
The waning of the day brings a coolness
to my idle lips...
A marker imposed on
my travel. For the location
of the night's shelter
subjects my surroundings
to a check...
Finding a cove of brush neatly hid,
from the regular traffic
of things alive.
Placing and replacing the branch,
as a bee
making ready his nightly hive.
For herein lies for me,
the contentment of mind and soul,
that many
shall never obtain.
Here I found my Winter's snow,
Pretty Autumn,
and
the early Spring's rain...
Someday I'll return, I feel it true,
to this world,
I'm forbidden to forget.
And whatever it be, that for which I search,
I know.

 

R. Martin Trout
© 1955

Midi: "A Whiter Shade of Pale"

Photo: "Mongolian Scene"
By: Mugabe (Korean)