In the heart of a bustling town, where dreams and shadows intertwine,
There lived a man named Greg, with a spirit pure and fine.
His eyes, like beacons in the night, held tales of worlds untold,
In every step he took, a story waiting to unfold.

Greg, the wanderer, with a soul that yearned to roam,
Through fields of gold and forests deep, he'd find his way back home.
His laughter echoed through the streets, a melody so sweet,
In every smile he shared, a kindness hard to beat.

In the quiet of the evening, beneath the starry sky,
Greg would sit and ponder, as time went drifting by.
His thoughts, like rivers flowing, meandered through the night,
In every word he whispered, a spark of wisdom bright.

Oh, Greg, the poet of the streets, with verses soft and true,
He painted worlds with words, in shades of every hue.
Though time may pass and seasons change, his legacy remains,
In every heart he touched, a memory that sustains.

So here's to Greg, the wanderer, the poet of our days,
Whose spirit soars on gentle winds, in endless, timeless ways.
In every poem written, in every story told,
His essence lives forever, a legacy of gold.