Licensed CC-BY.
The hitch-hiker I
remember best
was someone you
might call a hobo.
Lord knows what he’d
been through to receive
a gift that some folks get
who’ve borne so much.
He traveled light.
He owned a little pack,
a little dog;
that’s all.
I drove for fifty miles
before he turned
his head to me
and said,
“I think
I’ll get out here.
I like the way
the grass looks,
way up
on that hill.
The way the light
falls on it.”
