Each footstep makes a crunching sound,
As the fire burns all around,
The old man frowns and stares on down,
Is this the land that he calls home?
Every eye sneers on with menacing force,
As the old man carries on,
His question holding forth and strong,
As his face portrays what’s wrong.
He has been walking all his life,
With hardened skin throughout his strife,
At every place he turns his back
And keeps in mind what’s right.
Everywhere is occupied by another watchful face,
He keeps his stride on-going and his mind on his fate,
Where is his resting place, the place that he calls home?
It is not clear as he’s the one who does not let us know.
As more time goes he rests his weary legs,
His eyes fall shut as he lies on a natural bed.
The heat has made him tired, and he lies by the way,
A scene of tragic beauty is what anyone would say.
But fear not weary travellers his time has not come yet,
He closed his eyes for a moment as his home he has met,
Before him lies a wondrous lake with all to be seen,
And only his reflection can see where he has been.