The Wanderer

He must have been on
The road since dawn
Tramping across the moor;
"God bless you", he said,
On that cold grey morn'
As we met at my kitchen
Door.

On his weathered face there
Grew a beard almost touching
His naked breast,
Standing near six feet-
 A supple type-
I assumed he was from the west.

His hair was black, a raven black,
All tossed by the morning breeze,
Did he sleep for long or did he
Sleep at all I thought as he ate
Some porridge.

Then after, perhaps, his best meal
In days he thanked me by using
God's name and off he went as I
Fed the hens- had he thoughts
Of riches or fame ?
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Liam Ó Comáin

An Irish poet now living in Derry City but originally from Limavady in County Derry in the north of the Island. more…

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"The Wanderer" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 25 Mar. 2019. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/44567/the-wanderer>.

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