Hour Four – The Traveller

He came to town one Thursday

all dirty, wild and worn.

His steed was lithe and sturdy

His clothes were slightly torn.

 

People started whispering

as townsfolk often do:

Was this bloke a traveller?

or from that mining crew?

 

He settled in the local pub

and hogged the bloody fire

brooding over middies

until he’d then retire.

 

The local folk were edgy

at this silent, dusty stranger.

He seemed to carry with him

an air of sullen danger.

 

Just a few days later on

the whole town met to ponder

the man who’d built their township

and another one just yonder.

 

Old Man Age had taken him

a week or so before

and everyone who knew him

felt a sadness to the core.

 

So as the speeches ended

and the silence fell around

the Stranger put his hand up

and his voice he finally found:

 

“I’ve come to town to pay respects

to the man who gave me life.

I have no other siblings

nor a mother, nor a wife.

 

And now I have no father

with whom to reconcile.

Stubbornness and petty pride

made me a imbecile.

 

30 years ago we fought

and 30 years have fled

with not a word between us

and now, my father’s dead.

 

So take my words and listen

for I’m leaving town today:

Never let the curtain fall

on a half-arsed written play.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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