Take me away from the sharp icy heather.
Come walk with me.
Pray take my hand.
On the craggy land, may our feet be liberated.
For I want not to slide unto the land of Duncan.
May my feet be firmly anchored, upon the hills where Robert walked.
Should we focus our eyes together, as we give due regard to the fowl soaring in the firmament.
Then to the smoky tavern we shall go.
To drown our sins with a warming dram.
As the evening will stoop, fast becoming night.
We shall slumber into the morning.
Tomorrow for the loch we shall depart.
Once again shall we march.
Escorted only by the rising of the winter sun.
©Livvi