High upon this hill, blue an green
My heart races in balm of drizzle,
I taste the seas' shimmers, crofts,
The turf and tobacco betwixt rain
Travel from my village to mind me
That this be an ancient landscape,
I inhale deeply damp Clannish air,
Have come to know winter peace
And all is golden in fey softy days,
In the scours of lamb scented sun.