r2vyln3rdioj14u-rld0ska where mountains meet the sea: Morag McPhearson, of Glen Lyon

Morag McPhearson, of Glen Lyon


Someone said, he had heard, years later
That my man had been cut down
On the road, near Resaurie Pass,
Fleeing from the slaughter
On the bloody moor, perhaps.

Another, that he had died in the final charge
With the other men of his ken,
Against the bayonets and shot
And shell, of Cumberland's men.

I know not where he fell, whether
It was in battle, or in flight,
I only know that he is gone
These long years, since
And that all of my dreams died,
With him, that day and into the night.

And I waited, in hope
Until the very end, I can wait no more
For my bones are old now, my hair is grey
The wind howls softly, in the eaves
The cattle are lowing from the byre,
And the glowing peat forms faces
From the past, whispering, farewell,
Now, from the fire.

Scott Martin

4 comments:

Pamela Terry and Edward said...

Lovely.

Elizabeth said...

I love your days of Christmas...and now they're almost over...or you could go forever :)

Ken Mac said...

pure atmosphere

ER said...

This cottage is located along the Culloden battlefield. It is furnished with authentic artifacts and designed to resemble a place where the wounded government forces were looked after. Very dramatic with blood-soaked bandages and tools on the operating table, and blood on the floor. A few strange things. It was icy cold inside and a hot summer's day outside. The place was dark despite the bright windows. My camera flash wouldn't work. As a result, all my photos have an eerie quality. There were other strange occurances but that's a tale for another day. ;)