When I was a much younger man, I hiked the moorland,
my mother was Welsh, and the dry rolling hills spoke to my soul.
I'd trudge on through the forgotten paths, and daydream of my darling.
The wind it whipped like ethereal hands, tugging at my clothes
like a crazed lover.
But I was alone, out there on the moorlands.
Not a human in sight, such things make us feel most human.
I'd slip the flask from my hip pocket, and down a dram of scotch from the little metal cup,
and make love to the solitude. So much emptiness, so much loveliness.
The nights were especially cold, and harsh, I would spread my blanket
across the crunchy permafrost, and curl up into a ball.
Half awake, my feet tucked into my pack, I would hear music.
No instruments, just a vocal melody.
The words were unclear, but the feeling, it could only be love.
Years have passed, it seems like ages, since I walked the fields of my youth.
Now I have a family, and I find that I can still hear the music.
It is stronger, and it is clearer. In the rays of the morning sun,
with my family sleeping peacefully, I finally understand the song.
"Live, and Love my lovelies, ignore the cold. Sleep and dream,
in the morning you will wake up, the sun will be shining, and you will be loved."
This morning, dawn breaks so sweetly, and I quickly forget the insults of days past,
the hassles at the airport, and the trials of the day.
For the first time in however many years, as my loved ones gently snore
in their beds, spread out across two continents, I open my eyes, and I can still hear the music.
This melody is mine, no, it is ours, and you can hear it if you listen,
for it is the melody of love, and we all share it, whether we serve love or not,
We are loved.
A Burns 2012