Among the folks who write me,
From Frisco to Cape Ann,
Is one from whom I often hear,
And whom, I hope, I sometimes cheer --
The pleasant Traveling Man.
His lot is far from being
An iridescent dream;
And yet, I nearly always find,
He holds a happy state of mind,
With cheerfulness his theme.
Despite the dreary cooking
With which he must contend,
Despite the beds as hard as bricks,
And absence from his wife and chicks,
Sometimes for weeks on end --
Though night is void of music,
And care infests the day --
He greets existence with a smile,
And scatters cheer with every mile
That marks his treadmill way.
And if he sometimes writes me
A note to give me pain,
I guess the reason for his knock:
He had to rise at three o clock
To catch some dismal train.
He roves the country over,
Beersheba unto Dan.
May Heaven's blessing light on him,
And keep him sound in wind and limb --
The pleasant Traveling Man!
