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Always wandering, seeking
Never finding
All moisture from this barren landscape
Has been blasted away, and blown to the skies of more fertile lands
The intense heat arising from the sun-baked earth
Shows in ripples in the distance.
On I trudge, off to the next village where I
Can do some menial task for the locals,
In exchange for a bed, water and food for me and my camel,
Till they tire of me and send me again on my way.
"You're a free agent!", they'll say.
Oh well--we can't all be kings!
© Copyright 2000 Daniel E. Talkington
