The Traveler's Tales continue... - poetheart 10/09/02
Say, laddie, can ye gi' a mon-
Directions to an inn?
Where weary men find lodging,
Ere travelin' on agin?A place wi' lads o' me own ilk-
No strangers to the blade.
In mail an' leather, not in silk-
An' fightin' be their trade.A place where questions be not asked-
And pedigrees ab' ored-
An' men are judged by strength o' thew-
An' 'ow they use a sword.An' all the corners do be filled-
Wi' careful, watchful men-
Wi' pistols drawn, an' blades to 'and-
They be me kith an' kin.
An' more than 'alf, I lay, are Scots-
We be an 'earty breed.
Wha' fight for glory, die for gold...
Fer foreign banners bleed.What's 'at ye say? Aboot a mile?
Beyond yon shady vale?
Tonight I'll toast me fallen friends-
And spin a Traveler's Tale.
by John R. Yaws