Daybreak by the loch
like a snag on a fine mesh curtain
And though you pick as fast and frantic
as a tumbling hurdler,
It comes when it's ready
Then as twilight
trickles down the brae,
gently shaking the bracken.
the heather
recharging the colours
from their well earned sleep...
I weep.
My back to the Ben
Still snow-capped in June
This daybreak warms not my skin.
The warmth starts from within
The bones may rattle and sway
in Loch Lomond's great depths
Under the ledges
from whence divers turned grey.
In the twilight,
the bones have their say.
"We lie here in wait
and guard the child,
still waiting to be born.
One who may lift
the curse of the apathetic.
Lead the dire from the mire
and fill all your decanters
with a joyful pride,
that lets you welcome all
Inside."
That child is a spirit
An essence
A hope.
In Loch Lomond's waters
I saw it disappear.
May the bones bring it back
when the cynic is bleached,
and the wisdom of the Scots
Is universally preached.
We can live together,
when the claymore
we need, no more
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