Along the Pentland Road, 25 May 2017

Wednesday, 24 October 2012

Bosta

Deep blue seas hurrying through
a narrow channel to the next island
None left there as permanent residents
Only the markers to those gone before

The village in the sand was stirred
by violent winds from the present age
what did it look like, they wanted to know
only guesswork

Yielding an edifice that's stood
the test of time, but failed the one of modernity
Above the sands and past the river
None now live there, others come admiring

A dark storm looms from the northwest
The islands fade in the squalls of winter
Reappearing in blinding clearances
in a white wreath of flying foam

From small to larger the people were moved
To the township southeast, round the minister's manse
Further southeast more ancient a temple
Not to the sun but for observing the moon

Long gone have the people who erected the stones
Long gone are those driven away
At the whim of a minion, not caring
but for his master's pocket

Only the beach now remains
With the islands beyond
And the memory of those gone before
At Bosta

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