An old woman stir the fire to blaze
In the house of a child, a friends, a brother.
She has overspent her welcome.
Night draws down over Shakopee.
She is beckoned to rise, to journey
To a new place she has never seen.
It is a land of light, she is told,
But in heart resides fear;
It is a land she knows not.
The days grown desolate, whisper
and sigh; Heaving the storm through
the roof above, she bends to the
warmth and shakes with cold,
While her heart still dreams of battles
Ans friendships, and rigor of youth,
Mingled with cries of hunt from
this hills of old.
The fire burns low.
The old woman kindles it once more,
but there rise no flame.
Life ebbs from the coals and from
the woman. A land of light and warmth
and youth awaits
The white stag beckons her come
to a land where all is at rest
and where all are one.
Yet her soul fears, for she sees with
only her eyes, and they cannot
behold what lies beyoned the darkness.