The Travel Writer
To cross the world; to see such sights
To taste new culture too
To visit, feel experience
To do, to be, imbue
And then to write; to share, to tell
To be at one in ink
The travel writer story bound
Forever forging links
To cross the world; to see such sights
To taste new culture too
To visit, feel experience
To do, to be, imbue
And then to write; to share, to tell
To be at one in ink
The travel writer story bound
Forever forging links
One minute, he was a baby
A small, innocent child
The apple of my eye and more
So tender, meek and mild
And then before I knew it
He’d got to six foot three
A strapping, independent lad
Leaving nest and family
Venturing out to greener fields
To take the world by storm
Whilst finding out for himself what
Path will become his norm
Creating his life on his own
His choice and making too
A fiercely independent chap
Striding to pastures new
Yet in his wake my heartstrings
Stretching from Mum to boy
With built-in elasticity
Connection to employ
A dichotomy or paradox
Willing him to go far
Yet feeling twinges and the wrench
Emotions slightly charred
But also by the same token
Being proud from job well done
With joy and thrill that’s just saying
“Become a man my son.”
“Become a man and blend your life
Make footsteps in the sand
Ones of contentment; happiness
By which you will then stand”
“And be compassionate with grace
Upholding honour true
For boy now grown up; fledging flown
I will always love you!”