THE TALE OF THE WANDERING

With a heart so tender and body so restless,
With a yearning in the amorous grooves;
In a ceaseless journey ever unfinished
Continuously my wandering spirit moves.


Nothing to gather and nothing to hold,
With no intentions of a mean intellect;
Distribution of all my gains and gifts
Is never for me the perfidy’s suspect.


The spot where my pen or my foot steps
Is the centre of my spirit’s retreat;
Many in the world want many things
But a contemplative pondering is my treat.


I have been made a wandering trustee
Of gifts of God own wealth divine;
Entrusted, I have to keep nothing,
Then only my life will be fulfilled fine.


World wisely cautions me now and then –
Do not take every one in your loving den.
But my wandering spirit knows no stops.
Dying loveless is lying in dust, living when?