A Scottish Moor
I traversed a craggy Scottish moor,
Where morning mists,
rolled o’er,
the soft undulating ground,
smelling of peat,
Gave way to a rocky path beneath my feet,
A screeching sound I heard,
from way up high,
I looked and saw,
two goshawks flying by,
Circling as if in altercation,
I could not tell if it was fighting or flirtation.
A scrambling noise ahead drew my attention,
to a flock of sheep who,
in frightened apprehension,
eyed me warily,
but it did not stop them eating,
I passed them by,
and left them to their bleating,
Scotland has a wild
and wondrous landscape,
Where unspoilt nature
invites you to escape,
From rocky heights, to climb,
To which you would aspire,
To green encumbered glens,
that do inspire.
It grasps your soul, this land,
with it’s bounteous beauty,
And reminds that to protect it,
is your duty.
I will admit to other loves,
and causes,
Shakespeare's sceptred isle,
is my amour,
But Robbie Burns homeland,
I as much adore.
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