Keep your jingle, leave me mine,
Where I can mingle with the stars
Or lie and ponder space and time
While you count sheep or dream of wars.
Comes the dawn. . .good morning world!
I raid my slender bindle pack
And breakfast like the king I am
Before I saunter down the track.
I have no truck with ends or aims
You struggle for so futilely.
The far horizons closed to you
Are open passages to me.
As for the day of reckoning
you hold in such austere regard--
A starlit track across the bar
Will be my rich reward.
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