There is nary a tree where I do live
And highlands beyond are naked,
Yet all is green and all is grey.

If you listen a tad you will hear not,
But the race and howl of windy lot
And all is green and all is grey.

The glens are bare and now remote,
The narrow roads are but outlines,
Yet all is green, muted in throat.

Little boats are waiting in harbour,
The sea is a full glass of milky grey,
All is green, be glad, lass be gay.

And I breathe where I wait and live,
O mountains are snowy and grave,
Yet green, grey, all tarnish today.

When first I did see you,
My heart was a drum, beaten,
A fog horn blew out to sea.

When you looked at me,
Stark, true, across blue sky,
Sunshine piercing the clouds.

When you touched me,
Frost thawing at first light,
Misted dews on the heathers.

When you were upon me so,
Could I not but open, bloom,
Softly, wind on the petal.

When your hot eyes got me,
Set smoulder to stoked flame,
Aye, I burned for you.

Faces forlorn, one frozen moon,
Eyes of mine, but clouds of stars,
Sea shells are pale, fairest debris
And not a neckless you once gave
To me, the ocean is a muddy flood,
A container for tears, rain without end
Even the sun in sky is small without joy,
Even birds in flight leave, not enthralling,
And scattered pines that line the moors,
Are lost to shivers in the dark wide opens,
Little things are all about, surrounding me,
Little things reminding of us, hounding, see,
Small wee things are in coldness and queer,
Little things mounting each day of the years,
O how little things alight were once so dear.