Old Hobo Joe

Old Hobo Joe

Old hobo Joe would ride the rails, many, many a mile,
Ever so often stop at a little town and work for awhile,
Old Joe took to the rail when his true love died,
He'd just ride the rails and cry, to get away and hide.

He saw the beauty of the world as an old hobo,
Looking at he mountains and down in the valley below,
Couldn't quite get a grip on the pain in his heart,
From the loss of his lifetime love, his only sweetheart.

At times Hess stop at little towns and work for awhile,
Until he'd get that lonesome longing to see her smile,
Then the trains he'd hop on again to hide from life,
So hard at times, to hide from the struggling strife.

Summers were so hot in the cars he could hardly breathe,
Just simmer and suffer and sometimes seethe,
But winter was worse, the cold was hard to bare,
His feet would freeze and sometimes snow on his hair.

There were beautiful places to go and to learn of the land,
But it was a hard life old hobo Joe had taken in hand,
Many times he wanted to go back, see if maybe she was there,
Maybe someone would come along to make him care.

About life, he had a home to go to, didn't have to live like this,
So why was he riding the trains, not living in bliss?
One day he would go back, old hobo Joe, just look around, rejoice
Maybe if he couldn't see her, if he listened closely he'd hear her
voice.

~ Wildfern ~

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