THE OLD MAN ON THE MOUNTAIN
Upon a mountain, dark and gray,
There lived a hermit locked away,
Within a cabin dark and bare.
No stranger ever entered there.
Untill one day a maiden came,
Hopelessly lost, weakened, lame.
A poor, pathetic sight was she,
Upon which he took great pity.
He treated the wounds upon her head
And layed her down upon his bed.
He kept watch o'er her through the
night.
While outside the cabin the snow did
blight.
At time she woke from her fevered
sleep,
And spoke to the man in his hidden
keep.
She told him tales of the town
below.
Outside heavely fell the snow.
And little by little she filled his
mind,
With wonder at just what he might
find,
Down in the village far below.
He thought,perhaps one day I'll go.
He tended her throughout the
storm,
Did what he could to keep her warm.
He did his best, but though he
tried,
The sickness o'erwhelmed her,
The maiden died.
In a meadow he layed her to rest
With wild flowers upon her breast
And wept for the lass he had come to
know.
Lost in the woods in the winter
snow.
But, of the tale this was not the
end
For goodness came of this my friend.
For longing had entered the hermits
heart,
Of the village she spoke of to be a
part....
....And,so,he came down from the
mountain.
ŠT.S.C.11/17/99
