She loved him like the morning mist, Soft and quiet, hard to hold. Her heart was stitched in songs she sang Across the hills, through fields of gold. But he was carved from mountain stone, His soul belonged to skies and rain. He kissed her once beneath the pines, Then vanished into moor and plain. He loved the wind, the wild, the sky, The forest shade, the eagle’s cry. She gave her heart, he gave the glen He loved the land, not mortal men. She waited where the heather grew, With trembling hands and burning eyes. But he had found his only truth In winds that never once replied. The loch reflected not her face, But stars that led his heart away. She walked the glens with silent grace, And sang the love he could not stay. He loved the wind, the wild, the sky, The forest shade, the eagle’s cry. She loved him deep, he loved the free The hills, the mist, eternity. Now every breeze that strokes her cheek Still whispers him in minor keys. Her voice remains, a ghostly thread, Where love was lost, but never dead.
