a traveler...nonetheless...

When I grew up to youthful best
I would ask my mom often
'What would happen to me next?'

My mama, through her specs,
Would look at me for a minute or two
And then she would just me embrace
And say 'I wish you would be the traveler, true!'

I never made out then
What my mama wanted to mean,
But her words, like a refrain,
Kept on coming back to me;

Now that I look at the pages
Filled with love and love alone
I think I traveled... nonetheless
As my mom wished me to...



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