Old Wolves Die Alone, it is said,
In these Mongol Plains so far up North,
For In this time of grief they bed,
Farewell, to their King who had led them forth.
It was he who united them,
Temuchin was his name,
With three Yak Hair and sturdy helm,
He rose to Genghis fame.
Alas, Old Wolves have to die,
For Younger ones to pine,
And Great Khan had them left them by,
To let young Khubilai shine,
Some wounds go too deep,
And cannot be mended by time or word,
It was the the hour to put their Lord to sleep,
With his Land, his people and his sword.
He was placed deep in Mongol soil,
This was the part played by Men.
But the Horses too wanted to toil,
And so It was to begin.
Tens of thousands came forth,
From Old stallion to baby fawn.
And strode over now dry earth,
Up until the break of dawn.
And in the morning when the Red Rays swept,
A lonely camel here made its way,
Over Khan's tomb as she wept,
Was sealed his grave, with teardrops, in his final day.
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