A man walks along the road,
With no home but his mind.
He travels here and there,
He travels far and wide.
He wanders back to town,
The place which held dear his heart,
The place he oft thinks of fondly,
The place he looks for his mark.
His pack his heavy,
His soul is light,
As he whistles a merry tune
At the fast approaching night.
The merry cheer of the tavern draws near
And he looks onward with half hidden face so pale.
He smiles a little as he walks steadyily on;
The man that cometh is Cail.
He breathes a sigh of relief
At the familiar sight of friends
He sets down his pack,
He straightens back up,
His journey has come to an end.