The branches of the old gum tree
Lean their way towards
The golden rays of the sun
The gentle breeze blows
Through them
Slightly stirring up the dusty earth
He sits there
Propped against the old gum
His trusty Akubra hat
Tipped to shade his eyes
From that early afternoon sun
He’s a drifter
A man of few words
With a wealth of knowledge
Buried beneath his rough exterior
His hands as rough as sand paper
From years on the road
He carries a light load
A swag
His trusty guitar
And a photograph
Of the one love of his life
Who left him for an oil tycoon
Back in ‘72
It was then he made the decision
To sell all his worldly belongings
And to roam the barren countryside
Not looking for anything
But escaping the memories
Of what he once had
Every now and then
He’ll stop by an old country town
Pestering shop keepers
For odd jobs
Money he doesn’t have a need for
Except to buy himself a new pair of boots
To replace the ones with the soles falling off
From miles of walking
And to grab himself a few tins of baked beans
For the road
And perhaps on a special occassion
A cold beer at the local establishment
Some country folk
Under a full moon
On some silent starry nights
Have heard the echoes
Of a melody played on his guitar
And a crooning old voice
Singing some old
John Denver song
He has what money can’t buy
This drifter
He has the sun shining on his back
The breeze blowing through his
Old flannelette shirt
And the peace and quiet
That most of us seek
But never find
In the bustle of city life
He is by himself
But never alone
With miles and miles
Of dirt road in front of him
No where to be
At any particular time
Free as a bird
Is this drifter
And I envy him……
This is about an old man... I met many years ago... a drifter... I envied him then... still do
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