Post #913.
It was heard they said
in parting of the way
thou art my sinew
I am the bone
thus it shall be for us the
Ghosts of Glen Gaul Way.
The evening mist glides through the glen
seeking, touching, as silent hands
Wet fingers leaving gentle drops
until they find the fallen man.
The fingers stop, they see his face
drawn and slumped in lost repose
With pity, they resume their pace
but softly, weeping at his fate.
The wind now speaks, the mist does part
Recanting how the warrior fell
"Yet do not weep, he is not here -
"His soul is in my tender care."
The mist, now thinned by wind's advance
Retreats, and knows her work is done
The warrior sleeps, well guarded now
With tears adorned, but safely home.