Highland Village Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Tourists ask the way in phrase book speak,
Gaelic words creak peeling on a gate,
A young deaf woman walks the world in silence,
Two sheets hang dead. Loud insects swim the heat.

Gaelic words creak peeling on a gate,
A throaty stream is gargling over stones,
Two sheets hang dead. Loud insects swim the heat,
Bus convoys crawl up roadways built for goats.

A throaty stream is gargling over stones,
In breezy corries bluebells almost tinkle
Bus convoys crawl up roadways built for goats
Foraging ducks quack hungrily for food.

In breezy corries bluebells almost tinkle,
Tourists ask the way in phrase book speak,
Foraging ducks quack hungrily for food,
A young deaf woman walks the world in silence.