The wandering bard of the steppes.

[johnhughthom]

We return to the tent just as the bard wakes and return to our seat on the floor.

Your ancestors fought just as you do,
On horseback with bow and lance too.
The tribesmen were quick, nimble and tough,
More often than not they were more than enough.


The Dahae were fierce, proud and strong,
We praise them still in campfire song.
The pick of the men rode in small roving bands,
The bow a deadly weapon in such well skilled hands.


The nobles, few in number but heavily armed,
Still too quick for the spears and rarely were harmed.
Loyal to the king their anger was fearsome,
If he was in danger swiftly would they come.


The best of the best,
Somehow better than the rest.
The Kings Royal guard,
Who always fought hard.
Feared by Saka, Indian and Greek,
Every enemy was made to look weak.


These were the men who rode out to battle,
Constantly eager to test their mettle.
An enemy at hand,
Who ruled a vast land,
How could they bring woe,
To such a great foe?
Enemies all around, north, east, south and west,
Such dangers to any leader a test.

And to you Mr desert, heckling my song,
How dare you claim I didn't sing for long?

Once again the bard retires to his bed, seemingly he could only sing in short bursts before tiring himself out.