Ah, lads and lasses, have a care-
An’ if ye’d but pull up a chair…
To ease yer boredom wi’ out fail
I mought jus’ spin a Traveler’s Tale.
But, hmmm? I’ve spake of India’s clime
And Rome and Greece..them both sublime-
The Golden Horde of Tamerlane-
There’s nothing much to tell of Spain..
Perhaps? But nay! I shall not chance-
Wi’ tales of dainty, flighty France…
P’raps the time wi’ Teach I stood..
The midships deck awash wi’ blood.
The cannon roared wi’ grape an’ shell-
The scene a tapestry o’ Hell…
The world hath never seen before-
The like o’ blood, an’ guts, an’ gore..
P’raps an island, quiet..serene…
Some lovely, amber colored queen-
Or alley fightin’, stoop and stair-
To win the hand o’ maiden fair.
The ones I loved, then left behind-
Another shore, or fight to find….
Ah! Buxome wench..I canna fail-
To place ye in me Traveler’s Tale.
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