Lord That She Might Be

The Colors Of Living Things Begin To Fade With The Last Breath, And The Soft, Springy Skin And Supple Muscle Rot Within Weeks. But The Bones Sometimes Remain, Faithful Echoes Of The Shape, To Bear Some Last Faint Witness To The Glory Of What Was.

I Felt The Tributaries Of His Veins, Wished To Enter Into His Bloodstream, Travel There, Dissolved And Bodiless, To Take Refuge In The Thick Walled Chambers Of His Heart.

Oh, Aye, Sassenach. I Am Your Master . . . And You're Mine. Seems I Canna Possess Your Soul Without Losing My Own.

If I Die," He Whispered In The Dark, "dinna Follow Me. The Bairns Will Need Ye. Stay For Them. I Can Wait.

You Are Mine, Always, If Ye Will It Or No, If Ye Want Me Or Nay. Mine, And I Willna Let Ye Go