The Traveler

He can't sit still for long at a time.
His feet get itchy to roam.
Mind wandering to far off places;
His walking boots are his home.
A malcontent? I'm thinking not;
Just curious is all.
He simply must investigate
That mournful distant call.
It beckons like the sirens
Calling out to passing ships.
Its lure becomes obsession
As the frenzy stirs and whips.
There's nothing to control the urge;
No way he can evade.
The traveler must follow.
The journey must be made.

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