To Foyers Poem by Barry Van Asten

By the Loch, the dead lie easy,
Masked by the veil of world's clay;
Eternally thrown to strange spaces
In the mists of hearts gushing away;

Away into a stone enclosure
For all time to stand and declare -
In the madness of the moon that outshines me,
An ogre of enchantment lies there.

And the great pagan gods of old
Shall tremble at the dark storm's force
That shakes through the woods and the hills,
To pulse with the waters course.

Yet what menace of years still haunts?
What elements of ritual press near?
The pilgrim journeys far, and strays
For something evoked and eternal lies here.

And those eyes peer from the shore
To thunder through ruins and roll
Onwards, into after-realms, and fall
Like a great beast at the brute of the soul.

And I will build you a garden
Out of ivory and stone,
By the meandering shores of Loch Ness,
For love and legend and time gone!