The Mongol sun on silken tents ablaze,
A jeweled city, built in golden days.
Kublai Khan, with eyes like winter skies,
A watchful emperor, beneath the jade-green skies.
His horsemen sweep across the plains of green,
A vast domain, a never-ending scene.
From frozen steppes to lands of spice and sun,
His empire stretches, victory begun.
He dreams of wonders, towers reaching high,
A garden palace, where the dragons fly.
With silk and jade, and gold in every seam,
He builds a world, a magnificent dream.
Yet whispers rise, from mountain slopes so steep,
Of Marco Polo, secrets he'll keep.
The traveler speaks, of distant shores untold,
Of spices, silks, and stories to unfold.
The Khan, he listens, with a knowing smile,
A glimpse of wonder, for a fleeting while.
For power fades, and empires crumble slow,
And echoes linger, of the long ago.
He rides alone, beneath the fading light,
A shadow king, in the fading night.
A legend whispered, on the wind's embrace,
Of Kublai Khan, and his golden place.