Poem: The Inn Keeper's Book, The Book of the Wheel

Weary, many a traveler,
Has come from distant lands
Dyed in the vat,
As wool held, stained hands

Crossing thee against,
Fellow man, friend, or foe
From where does he hail?
Conditioned as such, a man does not know

And though born a king,
A rogue has become
Casting long for his lot,
And for what fate has undone

Though through his dying age for such respite,
As for forever he yearned
Though crying rent not the veil,
Forbidding return

Yet in time his path wound - and it led,
Near unto such grace
As he could make his bed

Though making found coiled, 10,000 snakes lying,
And tied to them as he was, could not break the bonds tying
Except he discovered, there shined a light up above
The gracious Inn Keeper, descending, shape of a dove

And placing a tome in his hands as he read,
“Nine swords slay a dragon,
If one shall know how to wield them.”
But these words transcend all,
If one knows how to heed them:

”May you know always -
That you never walk alone,
Though dark, it shall guide you
On your long journey home.”