A Journey Down To Moffat Poem by PAUL COLVIN

A sunset unlike any before
Brings a sunburst orange covered moor
The sun’s a flaming fireball
This molten star engulfing all.

The silhouettes on amber sky
Raped, leafless trees, so black rise high.
Thickset branches, like veins, reach out
From ancient trunks, so bold so stout.

The hills and moors they twist and turn
And cutting through, a rock strewn burn.
Trickles down, meandering through
This south west corner’s rolling view.

These rolling hills have tales to tell
Their eyes have seen the thieves from hell.
The Reivers’ raids on borders’ towns
When civil wars raged up and down.

Young Wallace picked his first four men
From Moffat village in the glen.
A place renowned for Scotsmen loyal
To fight the tyrannical English royal.

The Black Bull Hotel’s where you’d see our bard
Writing songs and sonnets or loving hard.
His portraits hang up everywhere
And songs are sung with graceful air.

Now Moffat town as it’s now called
Victorian visitors it enthralled.
By way of spas, for wealthy folk
A hefty price paid for a soak.

William Colvin, from Craigielands,
Commissioned Brodie with his fair hands
To sculpt a fountain made of bronze
And High Street Moffat, it now adorns.

And I’ll vow to return one day
These friendly folks will stop and pay
Respects to you and bid you back
To join in the Moffat craic.