Fergive the lie I lied.[58]
WANDERLUST
Many men have seen charms in the life on the road; Walt Whitman and Vachel Lindsay are or were tramp poets. For men who cannot endure the security and the tyranny of convention, this care-free existence has an irresistible appeal. The following swinging poem by H. H. Knibbs vibrates with the call of the road.
Nothing to Do but Go
I’m the wandering son with the nervous feet,
That never were meant for a steady beat;
I’ve had many a job for a little while,
I’ve been on the bum and I’ve lived in style;
And there was the road, stretchin’ mile after mile,
And nothing to do but go.