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The Crooked Stick

First Traveller: What's that lying in the dust?
Second Traveller: A crooked stick.
First Traveller: What's it worth, if you can trust to arithmetic?
Second Traveller: Isn't this a riddle?
First Traveller: No, a trick.
Second Traveller:It's worthless, leave it where it lies.
First Traveller: Wait; count ten;
Rub a little dust upon your eyes;
Now, look again.
Second Traveller: Well, and what the devil is it, then?
First Traveller: It's the sort of crooked stick that shepherds know.
Second Traveller: Someone's loss!
First Traveller: Bend it, and you make of it a bow.
Break it, a cross.
Second Traveller: But it's all grown over with moss!

poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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English Eclogues IV - The Sailor's Mother

WOMAN.
Sir for the love of God some small relief
To a poor woman!

TRAVELLER.
Whither are you bound?
'Tis a late hour to travel o'er these downs,
No house for miles around us, and the way
Dreary and wild. The evening wind already
Makes one's teeth chatter, and the very Sun,
Setting so pale behind those thin white clouds,
Looks cold. 'Twill be a bitter night!

WOMAN.
Aye Sir
'Tis cutting keen! I smart at every breath,
Heaven knows how I shall reach my journey's end,
For the way is long before me, and my feet,

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poem by Robert Southey
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Traveller handwarm

the lamb in the blood a traveller moonlit
the lamb in the blood a traveller sunlit
the lamb in the womb the sky spelled cloud

the walker in the mud a traveller lightless
the walker in the mud a traveller darkless
the walker in the lamb the sky spelled step

a silent road in the traveller's book
a silent road the traveller took
a silent road after a storm
a traveller path traveller handwarm

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Passing Through

I saw jesus on the cross on a hill called calvary
Do you hate mankind for what they done to you?
He said, talk of love not hate, things to do - its getting late.
Ive so little time and Im only passing through.
Passing through, passing through.
Sometimes happy, sometimes blue,
Glad that I ran into you.
Tell the people that you saw me passing through.
I saw adam leave the garden with an apple in his hand,
I said now youre out, what are you going to do?
Plant some crops and pray for rain, maybe raise a little cane.
Im an orphan now, and Im only passing through.
Passing through, passing through ...
I was with washington at valley ford, shivering in the snow.
I said, how come the men here suffer like they do?
Men will suffer, men will fight, even die for what is right
Even though they know theyre only passing through
Passing through, passing through ...
I was with franklin roosevelts side on the night before he died.
He said, one world must come out of world war two (ah, the fool)

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song performed by Leonard Cohen
Added by Lucian Velea
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Traveller

Traveller
Where did you come from?
Where are you going?
What do you have in your pack?

Traveller
Who are you travelling with?
Who is your enemy?
Who is your ally?

Traveller
Are you not tired?
Are you not lonely?
Are you not giving up?

Traveller
Can you tell me
where the dangerous roads are?
Can you tell me
where the safe roads are?

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poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Passing The Time

By ginger baker and mike taylor
It is a cold winter,
Away is the songbird.
And gone is her traveller,
She waits at home.
The sun is on holiday,
No leaves on the trees.
The animals sleep
While cold north wind blows.
The snowflakes are falling,
The roof a white blanket.
Theres ice on the window pane,
She waits alone.
She sits by the fireside,
The room is so warm.
Her children are sleeping,
She waits in their home.
Passing the time.
Passing the time.
Everything fine.

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song performed by Cream
Added by Lucian Velea
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Passing The Time

By ginger baker and mike taylor
It is a cold winter,
Away is the songbird.
And gone is her traveller,
She waits at home.
The sun is on holiday,
No leaves on the trees.
The animals sleep
While cold north wind blows.
The snowflakes are falling,
The roof a white blanket.
Theres ice on the window pane,
She waits alone.
She sits by the fireside,
The room is so warm.
Her children are sleeping,
She waits in their home.
Passing the time.
Passing the time.
Everything fine.

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song performed by Eric Clapton
Added by Lucian Velea
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Old Town Types No. 4 - Our Mr. Trim

Mr Trim, commercial traveller, is in town again,
'Our Mr Trim,' you know, debonair and neat;
Landed here this morning on the ten-thirty train;
Can't you hear him laughing there, half down the street?
A bland man, a breezy man, a man to take the eye;
With his trolly load of sample tins, his big leather bags.
Men say he's popular; ladies say, 'Oo, my!'
John George Augustus Trim, traveller in bags.

Mr Trim, the traveller, oh, very well-dressed,
Very much the lah-de-dah; handsome, too, at that;
Flowing, braided frock-coat (material the best)
Pantaloons of shepherd's plaid, tall shiny hat;
Curly set of 'sideboards,' big silk moustache,
Diamond on finger and a rolling eye of brown.
'Oo, such a one!' the ladies say. 'Such a shameless mash,'
And hearts are all a-flutter when our Mr Trim's in town.

Mr Trim, the traveller, drinking with the boys,
'Heard the latest yarn, lads? Got it at the club.'

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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Jaspar

Jaspar was poor, and want and vice
Had made his heart like stone,
And Jaspar look'd with envious eyes
On riches not his own.

On plunder bent abroad he went
Towards the close of day,
And loitered on the lonely road
Impatient for his prey.

No traveller came, he loiter'd long
And often look'd around,
And paus'd and listen'd eagerly
To catch some coming sound.

He sat him down beside the stream
That crossed the lonely way,
So fair a scene might well have charm'd
All evil thoughts away;

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poem by Robert Southey
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Passing Away

THE SPIRIT of beautiful faces,
The light on the forehead of Love,
And the spell of past visited places,
And the songs and the sweetness thereof;
These, touched by a hand that is hoary;
These, vext with a tune of decay,
Are spoiled of their glow and their glory;
And the burden is, “Passing away!
Passing away!”

Old years and their changes come trooping
At nightfall to you and to me,
When Autumn sits faded and drooping
By the sorrowful waves of the sea.
Faint phantoms that float in the gloaming,
Return with the whispers that say,
“The end which is quiet is coming;
Ye are weary, and passing away!
Passing away!”

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poem by Henry Kendall
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