The Loch Runs Deep

“The Loch Does Not Take All” In the highlands green where the long winds roam Stood a low built hut, it was hearth and home With a crooked fence and a garden small And a fire that answered every call Lived a woman there with her silver hair With the weight of truth in the food she’d share She could mend a heart, she could still a mind With the simplest things and the rarest kind And beside her stood a quiet man With the strength of earth in his open hands Dark his hair, and his beard ran red Like the dying light when the day has fled He did not speak what he held inside But he built and kept and stood beside And his love ran deep, it was low and wide Like the hidden pull of the turning tide Oh the loch runs dark and the loch runs deep It will gather what it is called to keep But not all who go are ever gone Some live in the hands we carry on In the turning root, in the shared bread torn In the quiet space where new truths are born Oh the loch may take what the eye can see But it cannot hold what is meant to be Came a young lass each day through the bending grass With a restless heart that would never pass Through the garden gate, to the firelight’s glow For the things she burned and ached to know “Teach me why we break, teach me how we heal Teach me what is false, teach me what is real” And the old one smiled, as the wise ones do “Child, the path will open itself to you” Then the mist rolled low on a silent morn And the old one left as the light was torn She crossed the loch where the dark waters lie And was lost to the world and the watching eye No cry returned, and no trace was found Only stillness laid on the waiting ground And the people said what they always say “The loch has taken her life away” Oh the loch runs dark and the loch runs deep It will gather what it is called to keep But not all who go are ever gone Some live in the hands we carry on In the turning root, in the shared bread torn In the quiet space where new truths are born Oh the loch may take what the eye can see But it cannot hold what is meant to be By the fire one night with uncertain hands The young lass forgot all the small commands Tears fell soft in the rising steam Like the breaking edge of a half-seen dream Then a voice came through, not loud but near “After, child… I am still here” And the path returned in her quiet mind Like a thread once lost, now again aligned So she learned the voice that does not shout The knowing that grows when the light goes out In the cut of root, in the patient flame In the love that outlives a spoken name And the old man stood through the passing years Held her grief and watched the lass grow strong At the edge of time, with his final breath “She was never claimed by the loch, nor death” Oh the loch runs dark and the loch runs deep It will gather what it is called to keep But not all who go are ever gone Some live in the hands we carry on In the bread we bake, in the roads we roam In the fire we tend and the making of home Oh the loch may call, but it cannot claim What is given in love outlives all name