She heard the
call of the voice on the cold nightly breeze,
She followed
its beckoning through eerie forests & trees,
Over hill
& tor, leading her to the high mountain of stone,
Where she
walked searching, step by soft step & all alone.
Looking all
around her, then up in the rock she saw the face,
Looking upon
her, she knew the voice came from this place,
Of craggy
nose & eyes of painful caves, grey gouged of stone,
She knew this
mountain once had soul, flesh & bloody bone.
Every dawn
she´d go to the face of grimaced lip made of rock,
Where the
moon lit his brow & to where his heart was locked,
The bat sorely
warned, the owl hooted & the wolf cried in pain,
The raven
scolded as she passed, but every morn she came again.
Man of rock
fell deeply in love & a heart stirred within the maid,
She felt his
heart of stone beating in the wind & she felt so afraid,
Romance was
impossible & it could never be lived nor ever loved,
She daily
paid him homage & he adored her silently from up above.
The rumbling shook
the earth & from afar was felt & loudly heard,
Men ran, there
was fear from the sky, from the beast & every bird,
Shaking, rumbling
& trembling ended & silence once again reigned,
Only wild wind
was heard above the hysterical laughter of icy rain.
The moon smiled
upon the old mountain, where the face had gone,
The maiden too
had disappeared, where the sun now happily shone,
There was one
teardrop running down the cheek of the ancient rock,
Where mountain-man
once lived & where the raven no longer mocks.
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