Red Deer of Exmoor

Where the Heather Meets the Sky

Where the heather meets the sky,

And the mist rolls soft and high,

Antlers rise like branches bare,

Kings of Exmoor wander there.

Roar of the stag, through October air,

Calling the hinds with a voice so rare,

In valleys deep, on the moorland wide,

The red deer of Exmoor will never hide.

Hinds with their calves in summer green,

Silent shadows, seldom seen,

Spotted coats, then fading fast,

Ancient bloodlines from the past.

Roar of the stag, through October air,

Calling the hinds with a voice so rare,

In valleys deep, on the moorland wide,

The red deer of Exmoor will never hide.

Once the wolves sang here before,

Now the hunters walk the moor,

Yet still they run, proud and free,

Living symbols of wild majesty.

Roar of the stag, through October air,

Calling the hinds with a voice so rare,

On Exmoor’s hills, where the shadows glide,

The red deer of Exmoor forever abide.

Through winter’s frost the herds still stay,

Moving slow in the shortened day,

Snow may fall and rivers freeze,

Yet they endure with noble ease.

By dawn they tread where shadows lie,

Mists drift low while buzzards cry,

Hooves mark paths through bracken deep,

Secrets of the moor they keep.

When springtime stirs the moor once more,

Green shoots rise and skylarks soar,

Deer return to grazing ground,

Life renewed where peace is found.

From age to age their story flows,

Woven in the land it grows,

Children hear in whispered lore,

The stag’s proud song forevermore.

So lift your gaze when the wild winds call,

Antlers shining proud and tall,

For as long as Exmoor’s hills shall stand,

The red deer reign in this timeless land.

When autumn fires light up the land,

Stags still battle, proud they stand,

Clash of antlers, voices strong,

Ancient rites where they belong.

Roar of the stag through the autumn air,

Warning the rivals, “Do not dare,”

In mist and rain, by the riverside,

The red deer of Exmoor will never hide.

Through rolling fog their shapes are seen,

Ghosts that move through fields of green,

Eyes like embers, burning bright,

Guiding spirits of the night.

Roar of the stag through the autumn air,

Calling the hinds with a voice so rare,

Across the moors, through the valleys wide,

The red deer of Exmoor still abide.

Long may they roam where the wild winds play,

Crowned in glory at break of day,

Symbols strong of a land so pure,

Everlasting, proud, and sure.

Roar of the stag through the autumn air,

Songs of the wild forever there,

On Exmoor’s hills, by the riverside,

The red deer of Exmoor forever abide.