The Wanderer

Through woods and rocks
a sportsman walks
Seeking both pleasure and game.
The heart of a youth,
The age of a man,
Courageous, good-humoured;
Detest fame. At day's end, the hiker strums his guitar.
Fireflies dance, toads sing of romance . . .
The chirp of the crickets
add to the trance
Of the night life, near and far. The moon shines bright
his path at night.
Winds gently caress his face.
On brush to sleep—
Bonfires to keep
Him warm, and serve as guards awake. To drink from brooks and
eat wild fruits
As did caveman ages ago.
There goes a hare; there runs a deer!
Now silence—a shot is heard! Can't take a ride, though
tired feet fight
Till he's reached the city gate.
Just a smile on his face
And a song in his heart
All for the fun and sportmanship sake. He treads the virgin soil
not fearing death.
Continues blithely to reach his goal.
He's traveled miles . . . his purpose:
To hike. He hasn't met a soul. But, lo! What is that,
That brightens the path; That which he dreads to see?
Lights in the heights . . .
Cabins in sight!
Alas, O, joys, farewell to thee! Yea, farewell, ye leisures
And all forest creatures
That eased his soul and body soothed,
No more to walk—
and walk and walk
He'll put away his friends—
the boots!

by Isabel Neidig

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