In the humdrum of daily, Paul does persist, A waste officer's watch, life's joy insists. Fifty spins ‘round the sun, worn like a cloak, Dreams of escape whisper, unyielding, provoke. Mountains arc distant in wanderer's skies, Oceans call softly with wind's gentle sighs. A heart that knows cities not shaped by waste, Longs for horizons with untamed haste. For beneath the routine of bins and the grime, Lies a wanderer's soul, unabated by time. He dreams of a life where the world is his map, Breaking the chains of the 9 to 5 trap. Still, his spirit envisions, anew and untamed, To journey through forests and skies unclaimed. Paul dreams to depart from the work that confines, In search of the wonders that open minds.