The Traveller - Poem by Devanshi Khetarpal
The traveller marches on the vale,
Of sights around, some green, some pale.
He travels around, going to town,
From when the sun's up an' till it's down.
And whistles he, the merry songs,
For the rhymin' happines', his heart so longs.
The air is filled with chirps and bliss,
And the rays, of golden kiss.
His ticker sees, the rare light of sun,
The happines' which he hadn't seen since dun.
And yet, everywhere he sees delights,
In a foreign land, the trait for which he fights.
Home is not a festel place,
Where one always espies the happy face.
Life is dreary, full of rue,
Where one doesn't see always the brightest of hue.
Comments about The Traveller by Devanshi Khetarpal
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You