Solitary

A lonesome traveller trudges onwards,
Through a grove of olive trees.
His walking stick, his one companion,
A rotting boot, his only friend.

The countryside looks down on him.
He is uneducated, unrefined, and unfit.
But the mazes of the paths of life,
Smile upon him and guide him on.

There is no bride to call his own,
His thoughts are hidden deep.
The wonders that pervade his mind,
Are savored in his sleep.

Sweet they are like honeydew,
Crisp and golden as the sun,
Dreams of forests, glades, and valleys,
Lives fulfilled and treasures won.

He is a lonely traveller he,
We scorn his grievous kind.
But beauty none will ever see,
Lives full inside his mind.