The Weary Wanderer Poem by sreelekha premjit

the weary wanderer sets down his ware
the willow bent down to provide him shade
the west wind went past whistling by
the wayward thoughts vanquished his soul.

the visage once the pride of youth
now much wrinkled has lost its sheen
the razor edge of his words once so sharp
had been blunted by the pains of life.

the last lap of the long run
he hoped to spend in a quiet den
but would not fortune turn its back
to one so callous and so crass

wouldnot the hurt once hurled so easily
victimise the one who prided in his targets
alas! the wanderer weary and lonesome
finds no warmth.