Sunny evening, 6 June 2018

Friday, 16 November 2012


A line of four hills
on the southern horizon
The endless sea
stretching out north

The old land falls
from the cliff edge
to its ruins
the sea toys with the stack below

A single line of houses
along the edge of the loch
another line marching
on the opposing skyline

The moorland waters drain off
to rest for a while
in the shallow waters
before merging with the ocean

Ever moving
never still
motion born
of long dead storms

Trains of white riders
charging the shore
A bullying wind
batters the cowering homesteads

Stretching uphill
to end at the church
views opening out
west along the coast

Like so many places
in these old islands
it's given up its people
to seek riches abroad

Or pledge fielty unto death
For a distant king
The village awaits
The return of the departed

Whether in this life
or in the one beyond
At the setting of the sun
Or at the Breaking of the Day

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