The Woman

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

and love.

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.

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