Luskentyre

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.