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Brought up on the warriors creed
Trained to fill the village need
No better hand at sword or bow
Into the forest she would flow
A wisp of air or whisper of leaves
The stalking trek the huntress weaves
Black armor of leather and breaches skin tight
Her silhouette but a shadow in Darkenwood's light
While hunting one day a trail she would cross
A bend of a twig, a smearing of moss
Sparking her interest, she quit hunting that day
To follow this sign to where ever it may
Who ever it was she knew it as man
The way it had wondered no purpose or plan
Strange it seems, it stumbles and falls
Like a drunkard’s swagger bumping the walls
She found the intruder laid out by the stream
Movements all jerky as if fighting a dream
Broad shouldered, brown hair streaked by the sun
Stepping closer she wonders "could this be the one?"
Foretold by the seer past carnival day
That love would find her in just such a way
Of love and of men none she had known
The lot of the huntress was sleeping alone
She knew in the instant their eyes met
Struck by the knowledge her future was set
The longing of yesterdays finally at rest
Holding true love the end of her quest
He looked on the face of a heavenly sight
And said "Love I've found you" then slipped into night
She placed her hand on his quivering chest
Cradled his head on to her leather cupped breast
She had found her true love and said her goodbye
Shaken by sorrow and whispering why
She sat there rocking, tears streaking her cheek
For what she had lost by Darkenwood’s creek
With pain is so great why don't I bleed
Weeps the daughter of the woodsman's seed
Many years later she'd relive the day
Sitting by the fire her hair streaked in gray
Her love's features sharp, her vision clear still
Not clouded with mistrust or conflicts of will
She sat there smiling at a young woman's plea
And how it was answered by the heart of a tree
Pulp tea the seer had pressed her that day
Held the gate open and fever at bay
Two became one as foretold by the fates
The manner of love and meaning of mates
Author
Mr»ÄlleÿÇät
copyright ©
Ed Schmidt 2002
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