Through the Long Dark Night

THROUGH THE LONG DARK NIGHT

 

High on a hilltop

The old watcher stands,

With a horn at his hip

And a staff in his hands.

His beard is long, his face is gray,

His hair is withered white,

But still he keeps watch

Through the long dark night.

 

A king sent him there,

Very long ago,

To watch the river valley

For either friend or foe.

The war was won, the old king died,

No messenger was sent;

Still he keeps watch,

Though he is old and bent.

 

So he watches waiting

High upon the hill.

Through the years he no more heeds

The season's heats or chills.

He died a hundred years ago,

Still waiting on the height,

And yet he keeps watch

Through the long dark night.