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THE HIGHLANDS

 

Rain coming down and grey the day,

With cloud there is no shadow;

To the sun, “Come back”, we say,

“Kiss mountain top and hollow”.

 

Oh! Land of the deer and eagle,

Perennial gorse to live and die;

Oh! Land of the scenic and regal,

The tick and tormenting fly.

 

Damp swirling mist on the moor;

All waiting warmth from above;

The Fox follows delectable spoor,

Of one that he does not love.

 

An antler forlorn on the heather,

Tool of encounters past;

Nearby an abandoned feather,

Lying where it has been cast.

 

Summer will rescue and sweep,

The hill, the valley and dell;

For the farmer crops to reap,

Produce for him to sell.

 

The perpetual circle of life,

Embodied in plant and bone;

The Monarch at rut roars in strife;

Omnipotent he stands alone.

 

Monty Alexander 25.10.98

 

 

 

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