04-12-2013, 07:57 AM
I need to be where buzzards broach the bosom bens,
peaks cupped in white lace kufi and pure as faith and prayer.
I need to feel the brittle breeze first numb my brow and then
upon my cheek, sharp needles shed from high, dry sticks;
I feel no pricks,
just pine scent in the gloaming air.
I need to be where snow-swans slide on silver trays,
in leaf-dark shaded water, ice glazed on sun-sweat days.
I need to drink fast streams that leach from bryophytic braes,
clear as poitin, peat-soft but strained through quartz and sand.
I sip the land,
as raindrops fling in Highland haze.
I need to be where sea sobs shore...
Where wild hart roar…
Where stars are crushed…
Where nights are hushed…
Where air is made…
Where time will fade.
I need to be
where I must be.
tectak
2013
Shieldaig
peaks cupped in white lace kufi and pure as faith and prayer.
I need to feel the brittle breeze first numb my brow and then
upon my cheek, sharp needles shed from high, dry sticks;
I feel no pricks,
just pine scent in the gloaming air.
I need to be where snow-swans slide on silver trays,
in leaf-dark shaded water, ice glazed on sun-sweat days.
I need to drink fast streams that leach from bryophytic braes,
clear as poitin, peat-soft but strained through quartz and sand.
I sip the land,
as raindrops fling in Highland haze.
I need to be where sea sobs shore...
Where wild hart roar…
Where stars are crushed…
Where nights are hushed…
Where air is made…
Where time will fade.
I need to be
where I must be.
tectak
2013
Shieldaig
(04-12-2013, 07:57 AM)tectak Wrote: I need to be where buzzards broach the bosom bens,Thanks to all for suggestions.....and milo, please note, S1 line 2. Peaks...NOT Beaks
peaks cupped in white lace kufi and pure as faith and prayer.
I need to feel the brittle breeze first numb my brow and then
upon my cheek, sharp needles shed from high, dry sticks;
I feel no pricks,
just pine scent in the gloaming air.
I need to be where snow-swans slide on silver trays;
in leaf-dark shaded water, ice glazed on sun-sweat days.
I need to drink fast streams that leach from bryophytic braes;
clear as poitin, peat-soft but strained through quartz and sand.
I sip the land,
as raindrops fling in Highland haze.
I need to be where sea sobs shore...
Where wild hart roar…
Where stars are crushed…
Where nights are hushed…
Where air is made…
Where time will fade.
I need to be
where I must be.
tectak
2013
Shieldaig

