I’ve met many in my travels
when I wander here to there.
Some places I stay longer
while others lead me elsewhere.
 
The people and the places,
they all have left their mark.
They serve as my compass
when I, yet again, embark.
 
They tell me where to turn,
who I should stay with next.
When I’m at a loss for words,
these people and places write the text.
 
My soul wanders where it will,
searching for a home.
And my soul is out there wandering still,
forever longing to roam.
 
It will follow the setting sun or the rising moon.
Always afraid its journey will end soon.
Day by day it travels on, grateful that it’s free.
But day by day, it wonders as it wanders,
where its home will be.
 
My feet are ever walking,
my eyes forever searching
for a place that I can call my own.
For my soul knows the traveler travels alone.