the hills breathe verselets high and low
in jigsaw lochans of liquid sky
lure me back to where I want to go
back to the land where poems lie
clouds turn mountains into words
that sing unto the morning sky
and a faintly scattered beach of birds
call out to me where poems lie
four seasons lie forever stranded
await some verse to unlock the spry
in a song that never ended
in beautiful land where poems lie
the setting sun says that all is well
as rhythmic rivers join the cry
of pounding waves of sand and shell
in the Motherland .. where poems lie!
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 2:04 PM UTC
the hills breathe verselets high and low
in jigsaw lochans of liquid sky
lure me back to where I want to go
back to the land where poems lie
clouds turn mountains into words
that sing unto the morning sky
and a faintly scattered beach of birds
call out to me where poems lie
four seasons lie forever stranded
await some verse to unlock the spry
in a song that never ended
in beautiful land where poems lie
the setting sun says that all is well
as rhythmic rivers join the cry
of pounding waves of sand and shell
in the Motherland .. where poems lie!
for me poems lie in the Highlands of Scotland, the Motherland. But where is your Motherland?