He's only a vagabond, and from place to place does roam. A small bundle holds his possessions. He has no place that he calls "home, sweet home". He walks along wearily, and slow is his gait, No loving, smiling faces for him at home do wait. Wherever he hangs his hat to him is home -- Be it woods, meadow or barn -- For he's free and contented and feels no alarm. His meals are easily prepared (maybe a mulligan stew), Or he goes from door to door to see how well he will do. His hair is unkempt, his clothes tattered and torn, The soles on his shoes are thinly worn. Expenses to him are just a great joke, He has no bills, -- he's always broke. But that's the only life for him, you see: He has no worries, and he is free. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT [1583] by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW NATURAL MAGIC by ROBERT BROWNING TO THE OREGON ROBIN by JOHN BURROUGHS THE HAPPY LITTLE WIFE by PHOEBE CARY MENDACITY by ALFRED EDGAR COPPARD DAVIDEIS, A SACRED POEM OF THE TROUBLES OF DAVID: BOOK 1 by ABRAHAM COWLEY |