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Ancient Traveler

By the seven beards of that bastard Algon
this story that I finally tell is all too true
so believe and you will at last learn it too
before the coming of the next red dawn

A traveler am I, and oh so far I’ve been
over distant lands ye have yet to see
across unnamed rolling empty seas
in the lonely places only the winds do ken

Oh the vine covered red ruins of Lamarr
or the blues caves of the Moss River
where crocs glide and give ye shivers
and ye are glad to leave and see the stars

And then there are the ‘civilized’ places
where treasures are sold under sun or star
in the covered marketplace of Salaabar
and often their captured owners of all races

I’ve walked the high ridge trail to Bomantar
where the green clad monks sing the ancient song
and judge the villager’s acts of right and wrong
and forgive them with love, no honor left to mar

And let us not ferget the mud plain of Eras Mir
where nothing can cross, but sinks from sight
to a grave they can leave only on a holy night
and ye will learn the meaning of true dark fear

I’ve heard the tinkling of silver bells on the air
and watched the fire dance of acrobatic grace
at the gathering at the river’s crossing place
at the wild annual deep wood’s Summer Fair

So long I’ve journeyed across this ancient land
and all I’ve seen I keep within, a record fer me life
where heroes and fools struggle with pain and strife
and the less then honorable often take a hand

Never look back but always keep going forward
and see it all as it is, if ye have real iron balls
fer in the end it ye that makes or mends it all
and ye find the gifts both good and hard