Wanderer's Tune

In the mist-kissed morn, a wanderer came,
His boots kissed by dewdrops, his heart aflame.
Through cobblestone streets, he danced with delight,
A troubadour's spirit, his song taking flight.

Oh, the village awoke to his merry refrain,
As he sang of love lost and dreams unchained.
His voice, like a lark, soared over thatch roofs,
A melody woven with laughter and truths.

He strummed on a lute made of moon-silvered wood,
Strings whispering secrets of ancient childhood.
The villagers gathered, their worries set free,
For a moment, they danced in sweet reverie.

He sang of green hills and meadows aglow,
Of fairies that danced where the wildflowers grow.
His eyes held the stars, his spirit unbound,
A minstrel of stories, lost treasures found.

Oh, the village awoke to his merry refrain,
As he sang of love lost and dreams unchained.
His voice, like a lark, soared over thatch roofs,
A melody woven with laughter and truths.

He sang of the sea, its salt on his lips,
Of ships sailing forth on adventurous trips.
The blacksmith joined in, hammer ringing in time,
And the weaver's loom hummed with a mystical rhyme.

The Wanderer's Tune, a ballad of mirth,
A chorus that lingered long after his mirth.
May his melody echo through ancient glen,
As he wanders, forever, and sings once again.

As the sun dipped low, casting shadows long,
The wanderer's song wove hearts into song.
He left with a promise to return someday,
Leaving echoes of joy in the village's bay.
