A lonesome traveler
Not my poem, found this in a cabin written in the guest book, with no name. No idea who wrote it. If anyone recognizes this, let me know.
A lonesome traveler passes through and thinks of days gone by
When others would go with him into the mountains high.
It’s all his fault: He ran the wrong way
And found a life of ardour instead of one of play.
Now he sits here with status, hard-gotten and hard-earned
But without the simplest things for which he always yearned
Good company, for one, and a woman full of love
To pacify his heart and be a gentle dove.
Alas she’s gone; she never did exist
Upon his false illusions, a man cannot subsist.
Forward, marching soldier! Never do despair,
To sink beneath hope is a sin he wouldn’t dare.
Grant him, Lord, the peace, that only you can give,
He’s got but one life that’s not too late to live.
—unknown (written in the guest book in a cabin northern BC)
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