Open Poetry #22 |
The Traveler's Tale # 59 |
Gunslinger Senior Member
since 1999-10-09
Posts 901TX, USA |
Ah, there's a lad! to take me kit- An' open wide the door. Why ye can poot it over there, Aye, there upon the floor. An' is the keeper o' the inn, Aboot? I'd speak me piece... An' set in yonder ingle nook, An' warm me at the bleeze. Faith! Cold, Aye! I wou' say it is. Yon winter wind 'as bite! 'Twas more than passin' glad I was, To glim yer cheerful light. I'm mindfu' o' another time, Upon the Asian steppes... To stray aboot in tha' dread cold, Resulted in yer death! Aye, I were once a legionaire, A gladius, me blade... I won me freedom in the ring! As fightin' was me trade. Ah, so long a time 'as past, Ye'd think me dead wi' age. But ye can see 'tis not the case... What's 'at? Am I a mage? Nay, lad, per'aps immortal, 'Twould be the better word. 'Tis many courtesans I've known, An' poets I 'ave 'eard. An' tales? Aye, I could tell a few- Aye, yarn til dawn grew pale. We oldsters 'ave to 'ave our rest, So goes the Traveler's Tale. [This message has been edited by Gunslinger (10-07-2002 10:03 PM).] |
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© Copyright 2002 John R. Yaws - All Rights Reserved | |||
the_loner_23 Member Ascendant
since 2002-06-08
Posts 5479Jacksonville, Florida, USA |
I like this a lot Cold hands means a warm heart |
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regards2you Member Elite
since 2002-10-01
Posts 3940California |
Creative. Fun read. Pat without surrender, be on good terms with all persons... |
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