Man Of Mystery

There is a man of mystery,

who’s soul will be forever free.

He’s tarnished not by thoughts of greed,

and values only word and deed.

He’ll travel to most any place,

a cheeky grin upon his face.

One house he has but not a home,

as still his feet do long to roam.

He’s loved by none except his kin,

a shame maybe but not a sin.

And friends he’ll only name a few,

this matters not for they’re all true.

His greatest gifts no one can take,

until his deathbed they do make.

For friendship, love and charity,

are his to give and need no key.

It’s hard to second guess this man,

for as his life it has no plan.

He drifts along led by his mood,

and only stops for sleep or food.

But day or night he loves to dream,

of a house down by a stream.

Beneath a warm and cloudless sky,

he’ll settle down content to sigh.

He’s worth much more than gems or gold,

as friendships can’t be bought or sold.

He’ll always help when needed most,

a loyalty that few can boast.

His manners mild and not for show,

but in his eyes his soul does glow.

You’ll miss it if you glance too fast,

and end up being in his past.

Still I’m the one that reads him best,

a clearer vision than the rest.

I know this man of mystery,

and know him well for he is me.