A stubborn rock in the sea
With mist sitting low to hide the green
Hills ring with a history unending
With no one ever to admit a beginning
A place she dreamed of
Calling home but never dared
A place of pale skin and
Centuries of echoes
Dancers and singers
Poets and drinkers
Rain filled streets home to
Lost sons who believe the stories
Here the world isn’t ending.
A past of dancing gaiety
A suffering bondage to the land
A pipe’s long lonely moan,
And an eye turned toward the hills
Still green across the wide blue
That separates time from place
A dream no Highland
Would surrender.
This makes me long for Scotland and all it's beauty and serenity. Your words captured how I feel there as though you were reading my mind.
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