His clothes, a bit shabby,
He has holes in his shoes.
The hat on his head
Looks downright abused.
He whistles an old tune,
Thought he'd set for a spell,
Has a pocketful of pennies
For the wishin' well.
He sits on a park bench
With that gleam in his eye,
Just thinkin' up wishes
His pennies can buy.
When his pocket is empty
He looks quite content,
With the dream's he's purchased
For just a few cents.
We can't live on wishes
Or pie-in-the-sky.
But, that vagabond dreamer
Always seens to get by.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem