Of Mongol Blood an' Kublai Khan

Thine ears, pray hark, I jest ye nay,
as ’fore I’ve spake an honest man.
A yarn amour, she by the way
of Mongol blood an’ Kublai Khan.

’Twas frail I were, worn pale with fraught,
when fleein’ nowt but mine own sins.
I blowed astray in winter’s wrath,
mid cussed scowls an’ wailful dins.

A tempest fierce, how e’en to stand,
I dare recall, afeared I’d be.
’Tis hard believe when truth demand
for oft-times I e’en doubtin’ me.

Though thar be I, ’twas nay a dream
an’ I done pray like nary ’fore.
The reaper nigh when I between
them yowlin’ gales an’ I nay more.

When she done mid them blusters dare,
in furs she clad an’ boots of hide.
Oh, I did cry, ’tis true, I swear,
when she done spake, “I’m by yer side.”

An’ found her arm slung round me waist
an’ held me close then I be warm.
She calm though knew be makin’ haste,
none e’er afore fought such a storm.

Done to her yurt with pelted frown,
’twas tough a schlep, I do declare.
When safe inside I fell me down
where found me ease an’ made repair.

She brought to boil strong salty tea,
an’ mutton too in hearty stew.
With both her hands she proffered me
a potent draught of warmin’ dew.

Once held her smile, nay words I can
for I ne’er knowed of love ’till then.
Benumbed, by gad, when ails a man,
be strucken I fore’er again.

Just moments ’fore, I scarce believe,
mid howl an’ scowl when thar she shone.
A vision, aye, for I in need,
for sure as dead, me prayin’ done.

She dare nay sleep ’til strong I be
an’ bade we rid to winter’s brunt.
Come thaw, bestrode them stallions free,
the mighty plains where we to hunt.

O woe be me when bid adieu,
a fare-ye smile, her partin’ shrine.
An’ I aloud, “Farewell to you!
fore’er be doused in prairie wine.”

Where’er she now, somewheres out yon,
where eagles soar an’ horses roam.
Could stay her nay, up done an’ gone,
a wild one she, a rollin’ stone.

That thar the truth, pray, let me say,
that I ne’er knowed her like again.
Of love I’ve spake, she by the way
of Mongol blood an’ Kublai Khan.