Mousa Poem by Richard J.P. O'Grady

Mousa Broch, mystery,
timelessness menace.
High in the Shetlands,
not German, not African.
Built by a craftsman,
a genius - B.C.,
others walls may fall down,
but yours never did.

Together so long,
stones gather spirits.
Round, tapering tower,
warrened and galleried,
massively glowering,
salt splashed and weathered,
who else have you succoured
and for how long?

Who else owes their lives to you
and your defences?
Who, or what did your builders defy?
Can you recall Viking lovers
fleeing Earl Harold?
Your stones they may listen
but they cannot describe.