met her on the mountains
wind nettled in her hair
red brushed through by finger’d draughts
her presence barely there
a wisp of lass, no more than ten
her breath a breeze in flight
cat-eyed maiden stole alone
cut swathes in misted night
passed through me in search of home
thought between we two
hurry back and mind your step
and sleep the whole night through
but stay an eye for feral beasts
keep one true for wild
a third you’ll need for pleasant folk
a fourth to save each child
fifth may penetrate the dark
and sixth shall make it clear
rest, be thankful but remain
alert, of list’ning ear,
met her on the mountains
outfoxed chill around
heard her hist’ry in my heart
her words in silent sound
met her once but ne’er forgot
each puzzled piece she told
maid of ten, or so I thought,
a child too soon grown old
wisdom of the ages
in the figure of a lass
red-haired, nettled, draughted, dead
met her in the Pass
scottishmomus 