Traveling Gear

My backpack is on the bed,
Filled with rations and my tools.
I’ve tied my bedroll to the bottom;
I’ve no more use for grocers or schools.
I pick up my pack and put it on,
And fill my canteen with water.
Out the door, into the sun,
My heart showing no signs of falter.
I select a limb to use as a walking staff,
To the road I make my way.
This town has nothing left for me,
But I might come back again, some day.