Traveling song

I met a weary traveler on the road,
Who stopping could not walk again,
But rather swayed and frowned with pain.
His back was bent from heavy loads,
And bare his feet and cut from stones,
His hair was grey, his eyes were dim,
That weary traveler on my road.
He would not speak but in a moan,
He begged forgiveness for his crime,
He that had loved beyond his worth,
He that had seen the depths of men.
He whispered how he chose to see,
The good in others they denied,
He choose to carry all their load,
For simple wish to see them smile.
This man so old, and frail, and hurt,
Had taken others before himself,
And while they danced the road ahead,
He, left behind, had no hope now.
The road was long and winding still,
And I the traveler still had miles to walk,
So asking leave I made my way,
Through dales and hills,by woodland streams,
But thought on him, that broken man.
Unsettled, as I woke from dreaming,
I half remembered lined, old face,
As in the mirror I was shaving,
That weary traveler I might become.

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