Beggar's Way

I walk adrift this long and lonely lane,

Wishing to repose somewhere

For I’m way-worn and starving

But I don’t have pence to my name;

And I’m so tired that I want myself slain.

All I’m become is a dust-laden wayfarer,

Plodding through pastoral hamlets begging;

I know not what pride is, what shame.

But I’m a son of Gods I believe—

I receive so they can give.

I’ll plant a kiss on the welkin

For showering me with myriad kin

Of this they’re oblivious though

But someday they’ll know, I know.