The Traveller
Weary traveller,
Take of your cloak,
There’s no hiding
When there’s fog or smoke.
In hand, an ale,
To put some red in your face’s pale,
To take the chill from your ghostly heart,
Before you once more depart.
Lay your bones to rest
While the host will do his best.
For, at this inn,
Story telling will soon begin.
Stories of darkness and light,
Stories both sinister and bright,
Stories of love and hate,
Of a knight’s chosen fate…
1 comment:
hmmm ... imi place cum ai redat imaginea "clasica" a calatorului si parca mi-ar placea sa fiu in locul lui la cum l-ai descris :) ... nu ma pricep la comentarii la poezii asa ca doar atat voi scrie
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