Traveler’s Tale 13 (Traveler’s Rest)
Methinks the night is soon to fall-
It’s time to make me bed.
A bare blade by meet outstretched hand,
A pistol ‘neath me head.
And brambles strewn around me camp-
To warn of passersby…
You meddle wit’ the Traveler, lad-
And likely you will die.
Me name? Ah, lad, an’ I forget-
I had one that’s fer sure-
But that was quite some time ago-
When still me heart was pure.
Buchanan is the clan I claim-
But I am long from home…
I’m not the first bold Scottish lad
To pack his grip and roam.
I’ve crossed the sea a score o’ times
And seen some bloody fights…
I fear my past does haunt me now…
On lonely moonless nights.
Guilty? Aye, I guess I’m that…
I’ve slain my fellow man…
Not as a craven slew I them-
Their blades were in their hands.
The hour is late, a toddy, then-
I’ll rest in this dark vale-
Tomorrow writes another page-
Within the Traveler’s Tale.
Visit My Home Page