The Stamped Passbook
My pass book stamped along the way,
...as I sit and ponder the roads gone by.
the first traveling walk I took,
...down the boundaries of childhood days.
In the flat lands I called my home,
...once, oh so long ago,
A young man walked the roads alone,
...not knowing where to go.
Many miles behind now,
...many things the man has seen,
Mountains high, to touch the sky,
...and valleys down below,
Rushing rivers, and gentle streams,
...and oceans that always flow.
Days, weeks, years now past,
...each moment a solemn memory.
By plane or train, in countries over seas,
...in missions, hostels, or caravans camped.
His days were guided from above,
...as tests to better his ways.
A bargain made so long ago,
...as he walked that road alone,
To have and hold an eternal soul,
...just to be happy for a day.
And happiness came, the strangest moments,
...sitting in solitude, just thinking,
Of roads he traveled, trials he took,
...at a memory of a stamped passport..
Yet here I now stand at the present,
...ticket in hand, my passbook marked and ready.
Onward, my traveling way leads home,
...and rest at the end of my road.
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