They call him the Wanderer

"Once upon a time there was a man of between thirty and eighty-two years old. He used to get up in the morning and have a small breakfast, and after breakfast he put on a coat and he'd go wandering round, for several hours, through the trees and through the shrubs, and when he'd wandered round for several hours he'd wander back again, to where he'd wandered from. And he'd have a bit of lunch and then he'd go out and start wandering about again. Wander, wander, wander. He'd go wandering o'er the hill and o'er the dale. That's where poets wander, is o'er the hill and dale. Other people wander over hill and dale. But not the poets they go o'er, o'er they go, they think it sounds better."