A Grave on the Glen

Aye, out on the moors as a wisp did I see,
My wild, black stallion looking back at me.
‘ven as I came close, its eyes were full of glee,
‘ven as I reached out with ghostly fingers, it never did flee.

I must be something strange to be near,
For it gently touched me without fear.
Wild and fierce was it’s heart, my dear,
But this stallion was something quite queer.

This was a painting was something quite rare,
A bond wrought by iron and will, becoming something fair.
Once again, I could look in his eyes and we could talk, I swear
Without words or sounds, just us on the moor and we’d stare.

Aye, we stood still but soon the wind was a’calling
The horse pranced about, my heart and its hoofs a’beating
We both knew the pain that came next, much like a sudden sting
It’s happened before, aye dear, just take a look at the spring.

My humble bed lies in the moss, hidden and secure
The result of our last ride and an adventure ended poor
The burden and pain of my demise, fell on this stallion pure.
So remember us, my dear, and both hearts shall arise once more.

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