Heaven’s face murky with tears as I, the recluse wanderer toiled the streets.
Perchance a Rhapsode, an eloquent bard did I hear, a scribe who’s words lead my mind over many a thought.
And in response, my hearts’ lips spewed its vexations as it cur to its dearth.
Besought its drought quenched; with the cool flames of calmness.
Heaven drizzling slowly with grace, as I, the recluse wanderer, sought to conquer the path home.
Albeit begrudgingly wanting to see what the Gods hath wrought.
Then I, the wanderer, bewildered and awed, laid my head on a freshly made cot.
And I, the wanderer, recluse and wandereth no more.
