Made of paper and old horse's hooves
A few folded rags to put on my back
And a couple of raggedy books
Their covers were worn into piffling
I stroked with each opening crack
To dream on the prose of Kipling
And adventures of Jack Kerouac
I read of the things worth the knowing
That love was a gamble at best
And those that you love need the showing
When your heart runs away in your breast
How the road is always a few steps away
And its call can be stronger than steel
That settling down is a whirl in a fray
No matter how happy you feel
Now I look on the hearts that I've cherished
In all different manners and ways
And weep for the ones that are perished
As I come to the end of my days
The books that I treasured that trip in the rain
With their covers worn softer than silk
Are gone long ago but their words still remain
In the heart that was born of their milk
~
