So weary, though keen in snares of random trip.
To west, and south, east and northern pitch.
Winter spent in northern route, and south gave me fireworks' flare.
The fluttering birds mock the blisters in my soles and painful blare.
All zones meet in my head, the clock i tell from the sun.
As i aimlessly ramble the whole wide world.
EBOM TOBE CHURCHILL
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wanderer-36/
