The Visitor

He asked me for shelter, I gave it him gladly.

He'd walked a long distance since dawn's early light.

With miles still to travel; he viewed his map sadly.

I offered a meal and a bed for the night.

He was rightly quite wary, but even more weary;

He looked at the clouds and the darkening sky.

Then he nodded agreement, though his eyes held a query;

But he'd not see the chance of a bed pass him by.

He lowered his pack and guitar from his shoulders;

He gazed at the fire that lighted the hearth.

I heated some soup, and I gave him a brandy.

I said it was fine if he wanted a bath.

He sat in the comfort of my humble cottage;

He spoke of his parents and family back home.

He told me his life for a small mess of potage;

Then back on the road in the morning, alone.