Drifted and Proud still

I set out on an evening,
quietly,
closing the door behind.

To travel far and wide,
alone.
I craved for water.

One cannot pluck others,
for this quest,
from their chores
They do not thirst.

So they are never led astray.
They do not drift
in the treacherous wild,
with a burning throat,
clueless,
starved and hoping,
till the very end.

And I fled
from the jeers,
of the pragmatic
and the boasts
of the boffo,
quietly closing the door behind.