He walks the land all alone
But you never hear him moan.
He wears a smile upon his face
Even in a dreary place.
He says 'hello' with a friendly nod
Then off he goes with a steady plod.
He will trudge the land through all seasons
And I am sure he has his reasons.
His face looks weary, old and worn
His coat is thick, but the sleeves are torn.
His socks have holes on heel and toes
Yet, on with his boots and off he goes.
His leather boots have seen better days
Yet he is rich in many ways.
A pleasant chap with a tale to tell
All he meets do wish him well.
He moves along from town to town
Nothing seems to get him down.
The nearest barn is where he lays his head
Fresh new hay becomes his bed.
The fields and lanes he strolls along
Pleasantly whistling his tuneful song.
Many a friend has the wanderer made
Doing chores for which he’s paid.
He is very happy with his life
No one knows, has he suffered strife?
I think he is happy to wander alone
And that is why he does not moan.
