The Travler’s Tale 14 (The Traveler’s Mate)
A finer lass, I canna recall
To grace the Traveler’s eye…
‘er hair a tint of Scottish red,
A buxon wench, and, aye!
‘er smile would melt a skinflint’s ‘eart
‘er voice would stir a flame-
An’ fan a colder ‘eart than mine
DeLana was ‘er name.
Aye, Miss, an’ wou’ ye go wi’ me-
To traipse a lonely road?
To share the Traveler’s ‘idden fire-
Wi’ im’ make yer abode.
I’ll dress ye girl, in Spanish lace-
An’ rich Cordovan leather
Where sun doth set will mark the place
We spend our time together.
Aye, lass, I’ll treat ye passin’ well-
An’ love ye till I die-
I ne’r thought the girl was birthed
To take the Traveler’s eye.
This blade o’ mine will earn our keep
Along the dusty trail…
Until a better blade I meet…
Thus goes the Traveler’s Tale.
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