O sing to me of Luskentyre's white sands,
Sing of the distant Hebrides,
And in each note I'll hear the whispering wind
Searching the machair in a soft lament,
On memory's wings to carry me away
To a land where sea and sky hold sway,
Where the sound of waves on a windblown shore
A wearied soul may wondrously restore.
O sing to me of glistening Luskentyre,
Changing with light, now pastel soft, now bold,
With shifting bands of multi-hues, sky blue
Or shades of grey reflecting an approaching storm.
Sweet Summer's shades to monochrome give way,
Relentless storms sweep in across the bay,
As winter skies release a deluge drear,
A chink of light will offer welcome cheer,
O sing yet more of Luskentyre's fair strand,
My heart uplifted at such sweet refrain,
The haunting melodies of a thousand years,
Etched deep within my soul, there to remain.
With indigo-tinted Taransay in view
Across the silver sands, I dream anew.
The wild Atlantic beating on the shore,
Here would I gladly bide to roam no more.
Copyright © Peter Rees | Year Posted 2017