He walks alone among the cities,
Passing the People and their pities
Faces framed with tamed hair.
He moves, finding solace
In the the word's expansive palace.
But there is something missing,
Not one of the People,
Not there above the church's steeple,
But a companion,
A fellow journeyman.
Perhaps, that is why he travels,
Just waiting for his life to unravel,
Reveal the prize inside
That remaining stationary would hide.