The Call - Poem by Nigel Stuart
Where you choose that your footsteps shall take you,
From that bourne where your voice echoes still,
Comes the call that my life’s made to answer,
As my heart pounds the slopes of the hill.
And curlew and peewit may cry there
And mists tear like tissues above
And cloudberries crush ’neath my progress
Yet heathers will cushion my love.
As a child-man I plunged in the torrent,
And from boulder to boulder drove on
Till the swoop and the surge of the river
And its roar drowned the lift of my song.
A young man was lost in its shallows;
An old man was drowned in its flood;
A royal leapt safely its narrows
To save for the stalker his blood.
Then as brackens soft-crested the skyline
With a hart but a burst on their breast,
My vision swept searching the corries
For the down of a ptarmigan’s nest.
But snow cross Braeriach was flying
And dark was beginning to fall,
When I felt, through thunder and gale-blast,
Like summits the power of your call.
And where it will lead I will follow,
And where it will rest so shall I:
Round you streams the sun of tomorrow
Where, climb done, a called man may lie.
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