In rolling steppe I found my feet

Brittle grass crunching under my feel

Summer sun low on the horizon

Shadows long in the treeless expanse

A sacred wind blew 

Cold, dry, aimless on the plain

I, alone, heard it’s song

Its whispered melody

Bearing down on my like a galloping horseman

Bow drawn, aim steady

Deep into my soul the tune pierced

Its vibrations matched the rhythm of my heart

Throat sung harmony of proud people

Of conquest and empire

Tears and blood

Glory and suffering- bastards alike, 

Now unwritten history, sung only on the wind

Fading into the dark of deep winter

Whose specter haunts the vast and empty steppe 

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