In lands afar, in shadows’ haunt,

There wanders a man, like a demon, jaunt.

But he remedies, he heals their pain,

‘The traveling man’ has no name.

Through valleys deep and mountains tall,

From human life, he may not exist at all.

Through the dense forest at midnight nigh,

His lantern roams underneath the sky.

His grasps of herbs, a help to fix,

Healing from his fingertips.

With potions brewed from a nature's stone,

He tends to wounds, for rich or poor.

In every village, he comes discreet,

For his healing touch, folks can’t see.

Yet, in his heart, a longing hope,

For home, other than a stethoscope.

But duty calls, he cannot stay,

The traveling medicine man’s nomadic way.

Through his path may wind direct him.

In every heart, his legacy standing.

For kindness spreads, like seeds in soil,

In the wake of the healer, minute toil.

So here's to the traveler, brave and kind,

Whose compassion calls to transcend time.

His tales retold, his legend spans,

The travelling lost soul of the medicine man.