The travellers

Mud tracks dry and crack
On darkened wooden floors
Amber mead spilt carelessly
In drunken haste
Makes gleaming rings on tabletops

Through beat down trails
And dew stained fields
From distant lands
Of long gone glory
They come to rest their weary souls
Just for the night, 
in cozy warmth and decent company

And when the sun 
Rises over green and grey
When the early birds begin their songs
You'll find them on the worn out doorstep
Backpack strapped on heavy shoulders
Hunched against the biting wind

And on they'll go
With waking dawn
To feed the restless fires of their souls

On they go
To seek a place they may call home