Classic Poem

A bag-of-bones with nodding head
I met at Tavernspite.
You're old for travelling , I said,
Although you travel light.

I travel light enough, my son,
Though roads be stiff and steep,
Since my twelve children one by one
Have cried themselves to sleep,

And my old woman took to bed
A year come Christmas night.
With neither kith nor kin , he said,
An old man travels light.