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Poem

She holds a bright flame
to see through the dark
for she's fearful of far
incoming storm clouds

Red Stag on the hill
watching closely in height
majestic proud stance
she's not fearful at sight

her long skirt touches leaves
as she crosses the *sruth
and her flames light her face
as her hair flowing loose

and she picks up her steps
as she hears foxes cry
and she pulls at her shawl
as the mist finds her eyes

so she calls out in song
as a fear takes a hold
longing rocking chair fire
at home,  where belong

and her voice is so gentle
echo winds on the hills
at the stag she looks back
and he's watching her still

and soon she's back home
and sits by the fire
and the storm clouds have risen
but her heart never tires

for her watcher on hills
he guided her through rain
and he watches her still 
and kisses her pain.
 
* sruth is Gaelic for 'stream'

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