Folk lore talks of this place
It belongs to us the Scottish race
Its name is called Brigadoon
Fills your heart with love and hope real soon
Every hundred years or so
This village appears, were we do not know
Romantic setting snow caped hills
Your tingling spine gives you a chill
As you wonder down of the beaten track
You see smoke coming from a chimney stack
Over the brae just ahead
You see a village it’s not on the map you read
To your right a babbling brook
And over the humped back bridge you look
Crofters houses in a row, so over the bridge you do go
A sign appears saying Brigadoon
Villagers great you with open arms
With the Scottish usual charm
Ric you will settle down real soon
As you’re in that place called Brigadoon
Chellaston
13 11 2010
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem