Gird your loins, lads:
it’s time to pill the cat.
The October afternoon cooled and darkened
horses stirred restlessly in the paddock
worried about a storm moving over the bleak hills
Charlie, take three of the lads
and come in from the north
and may God bless you all;
I’ll bring the four MacKenzies
in from the top of the rise,
and we’ll surround her
before the moon rises.
Cautiously we rode, hoping . . .
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