There you are, peeking out from the bracken,
tufted ears swivelling, suspects nothing.
Fire-eyed hunter, you blend into the heather,
calico coat streaked to match the hills.
Muscles ripple under dappled fur
as you prowl the crags with coiled grace.
No house pet you, no tabby curled by the hearth,
you own the misty glens, roam free as the eagle.
Relic of the old days
when your great race ruled this rugged realm,
now you slink in the shadows,
face the cold breath of winter,
stalk the high meadows in solitude.
Wild soul, may you ever wander these moors,
fierce and unfettered
under the wheeling stars.
For as long as your proud feet still tread the heather,
something wild and free yet lingers
in these hills.
