Stags of yore

You enter the shaded woodland
As the sun dips in the sky
Blues fading to golden pinks and reds
The horns take shape inside your head
That freedom flows through your veins
Surrounding you, trees seal your fate.
Dancing heart joyous mind
Lifted above beyond your kind
Baser knowledge of a life once known
Aware that you are more than you showed
To anyone
Who ever sees inside your head
Horns are waiting on golden threads
Free you so you can run and prance
It doesn’t need to be a tuneful romance
That takes you on a whirling chase
Or lead you to a higher sense of grace
Pull out the horns and care not what
You may have or even not!
Do only as you think you should
Whether it be bad or good
Give yourself another day and night
Before the world begins to bite

Ailsa

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