HOBO
All he needs in his old rucksack
He was a man marked out to roam
In his late teens when he leaves home
Boots on his feet coat on his back
All he needs in his old rucksack
Along footpaths and country lanes
Walks everywhere sunshine or rain
Nothing he wants nothing he lacks
All he needs in his old rucksack
Up mountains high down valleys low
To any place on earth he’ll go
From north to south from east to west
By his wanderlust possessed
He’ll get a job if he has to
And earn enough to see him through
A long time since he slept in bed
A pillow soft beneath his head
Until he dies he’ll ramble round
Sky for a roof his bed the ground
Born to be free sun on his back
All he needs in his old rucksack
Born to be free sun on his back
All he needs in his old rucksack
@ rowland paul hill  15 September 2019 v.7
(Inspired in part by hobos. Travelers
Leon Ray Livingstone and Jack London)
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Comments
Hi Rowland....This poem of the traveling hobo reminds me of a good friend of mine who died two years ago...He used to look at living on the streets as an adventure....He even lived in a storage shed for awhile and thought it was grand....always enjoying talking to people wherever he went and not letting on that he was homeless... The world is a big place and for those who have their rucksack in tow, it is all a big adventure, albeit sometimes a bit of a struggle. Great poem that brings the circumstance to life. Thank you for sharing. xo ;)
I can relate to your poemÂ
at one point in my life I was a hobo angel.
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