Them bones, they ache.

All weary and sore.

Dragging, yet still…

always on the move.

Always going, never ceasing.

Always tired and thirsty for sleep.

Rest is for the weak, them says.

If only I had a week to rest, says the traveler.

I am worn down and in need of care.

Only the weary falter and stay, them says.

You want to show your feebleness?

A sigh. Shoulders droop. Listless the traveler answers.

No, so I’ll be on my way.

My bones, how they ache.

Always tired and thirty for rest.


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