You reach into my heart
And pull at the strings
Draw out the sadness of the past
And other things;
You take me back to the green hills
When time we didn't need to save
A peaceful Sunday evening
When we stood at Rob Roy's grave;
The stillness of the air
On that evening long ago
Are caught in the haunting sounds
From your fiddle and bow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem