Siriluck Kedseemake's
Balmoral Scenes

Balmoral Song 

There she walks through her statues
To stand by her graves all her days
While her vision deceives in the dark of the yews
Casting their shade on her gaze
Oh what had she found for the rest of her days
And what for the rest of her nights
Oh what did she find
Oh what did she find
But the nights were all streamed with light
Oh her nights were all dreamed with light
While the face of her days was bright
In the sight of her God of the night 

Here the old lady is roaming
Her hair as white as the dove
While her vision deceives through the gloaming
Combing the grounds of her love
Oh what had she found for the rest of her days
And what for the rest of her nights
Oh what did she find
Oh what did she find
But the nights were all black and blind
Oh her nights were so black and blind
While the face of her days were all lined
With the shade of his grace from above 

With the shade of his grace from above
With the shade of his grace from above
With the shade of his grace from above.....

By Thomas Albert Fox
©justWords Limited

 

©Siriluck Kedseemake
Balmoral Scenes

D e o r

©Siriluck Kedseemake,
Balmoral Scenes

 

 

Dear One
or Deor, dear heart 

As the narrow day was gloaming
You know the deer were surely roaming
Down the tracks ‘til they trespass
Upon this luscious lower grass 

There among the fir and pine
You could see their sign
And hear the way the heather moves
Beneath the touch of tender hooves 

A flick a bob the slightest stone
Tells you that you’re not alone
Yet it’s as if they’ve passed you by
No matter how you strain your eye 

Tired and weeping over-strained
You feel your being has been drained
For both your eyes are moist as deer
Whose fearful presence seems so near 

So near those eyes confuse your sight
Whose tears involve the failing light
To form a creature out of space
From your vision of that place 

Thus this shape begins to haunt
These shadows where you hunt
Here nothing seems to be quite right
No matter how you strain your sight 

For in a world of make believe
Your dear heart can but conceive
Its being beaten into view
As if in blood it had come true 

So it seems your world is hell
Here in the narrow pass and spell
Where sharp goblins hide among the trees
Whose sudden sight your blood must freeze  

 


But if you miss the annual cull
Your antlers fixed upon your skull
Their branch and fork and subtle tine
Prove that you are pure cervine 

Each year afresh your rack is grown
And yet again its salve is thrown
To those who know its strength to cure
All those failings men endure 

So drink their velvet when its shed
And plant those antlers in your head
Where thereof they’re wholly wed
For in one being we are bled 

By that blessing quick and fast
As one another firmly cast
How could you tell your blood from mine
Too fleetly running to themselves divine 

For in one life it’s all the same
We find ourselves to be the game
In which the others cut their stakes
While all we know is what it takes 

To be a creature wild and free
The dearest thing that you can be
For your heart is turned to one
If this freedom can be won 

For freedom in each other’s eyes
Seems a blessing in disguise
But it’s hard to be alone
Far beyond what has been known
Where you find that you are mine
Here within the fir and pine 

By Thomas Albert Fox
©justWords Limited

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