The lone traveler seen along the miles;

Is so often void of smiles.

He travels alone and he goes far;

Endlessly following a shooting star.

Leather boots are tread bare worn;

Dingy clothes in many places torn.

In his pocket, a wallet dirty and tattered;

All remains of a life scattered.

Locks of hair on his head tousled;

Along the way you know he's been jostled.

Eyes Darken to the color of blue-grey steel;

Contemplating, as though this can't be real.

Hoarse words and speech patterns rambled;

More than likely thoughts scrambled.

Deep wrinkles crisscross his face;

Permanently etched of a life to trace.

His stench will make you wince;

But remember, he was once somebody's prince.