Changing Scene

Twas on a dark December laid her neath, naked heather. In a peaceful highland glen one I’ll never, know walk agen. Twas too much thou ask thine. To abide await awhile thy gone. Yon lips shalt never more kiss mine. Tears yon eyes sightless lifeless define. Swift decendith changing changeless scene beneath barren peat-brown loom layith beloved black-haired queen amid soaring peaks; purple evening gloom. Sky grew suddenly cold mournful dark no longer haunting heard; song of lonesome lark. Inside burns a cold blue bitter flame know never; I’ll walk heathered hills again. As decendith dread black rains splashing muddied puddles rein; earthen clods whip-lashed like me turned faced; barren cold grey sea. As a deadened weary outcast tread down rocky ledge; I dispossessed stumbling fled; unaffected by vast wedge weathered rampart barrier storied rock rears a-desolate; confront cliff’s cleft tower. Dread valleys narrow steepening steam awash torrents savagely foaming stream. Rivers winding shadowy; mist moving; ghostly valley always alas ahead; lead-on boil; white crested agonies alley. Seaward flowing seams gouge veined hills atop wilderness green; cattle-dotted ridges. Fierce mountain passes glen through woodless foothills surge runoff overrun; crossed spanning woodland bridges. Wind flung forth foresails flurried snow fisherfolk beware; neath white rod bound low. Sea seeking ships lay abay at anchored harbour maze of landfall sea lochs; veiled avapour. Birch logs burn damp cheerlessly now. At heath-side; aromatic smoke turns dour. Earthen clods still whip-lashed like me. Turn I face out a cold; grey beckoning sea. Copyright © Terence George Craddock