A poem about a man's life choices, written using lines with a mono-end rhyme pattern.

The boy had wanderlust something fearsome.
He sought adventure, a life that wasn’t humdrum.
His parents warned him that he’d end up a bum,
that without a college degree he’d remain dumb.
Still, he left home and hitched rides with his thumb.
Worldly experiences would decide what he’d become.

For a decade he drifted, accepting whatever may come.
He slept in fancy hotels, along with hovels in many a slum.
Dinner was sometimes a three-course meal but often a crumb.
He met many a rich man whose life values were out of plumb
and found many fine qualities among the poor called scum.
He made friends of children worldwide with a stick of gum.
He knew happiness often and rarely found himself glum.

He found a love for music; often an original tune he’d hum.
A European street musician gave him a guitar to strum,
and in the Caribbean he learned to play a bongo drum.
One night after a meal of cheeses and an overripe plum,
he wrote a new song while consuming a quantity of rum,
the effect of which was his stage fright was finally overcome.
After singing his song, passing the hat had a good outcome.

He composed many songs and soon made an album of some.
One never knows where one’s good fortune will come from.
His music now had begun to provide him a healthy income.
All his life he felt vibrant and alive, never bored or numb.
To him life was like rugby; don’t just watch but join the scrum.
Of adventures, fame, and money he amassed quite a sum
before at age eighty to death he did finally gently succumb.