“What if Marco Polo met Bigfoot?”

Beneath tall pines where mists uncurl,  
In Mongol lands unfurled and green,  
Marco Polo trod the world  
Past cities, sands, and wild unseen.  
He followed tales of golden beasts,  
Dined at the Khan’s most wondrous feasts,  
Yet none prepared his wandering eyes  
For what arose amid the pines.

A footprint pressed in earthen loam—  
Not horse, nor yak, nor traveler’s sole—  
Far from the silk-draped halls of home,  
Marco wondered, could it show  
A beast that stalks the snow-capped crown,  
With fur as dark as nightfall’s frown?  
He brushed the moss, and held his breath—  
The woods grew still, as if in death.

But then—behind a cloud of fern,  
A figure lumbered, shy but grand.  
Eyes like midnight lanterns burn;  
A gentle gesture, fur-clad hand.  
Marco bowed, his voice contrite,  
Adventurer met wild delight.  
Oh, traveler of silk and song,  
Here was a tale to carry on.

Bigfoot grumbled in a tongue  
Lost before the steppes were young;  
Marco offered bread and dates,  
Silk and stories, grand debates  
Of dragons, cities, painted walls,  
Laughter echoing in the falls.  
So side by side, through green and gold,  
They swapped their fables, brave and bold.

And long before the world awoke  
To legends scribbled in old books,  
Marco bore in scented cloak  
A tuft of hair, a secret look—  
The great Venetian, bold and fleet,  
And Sasquatch, hidden from the street,  
Once met beneath the ancient pine  
Where myth and history entwine.

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