Rain On Rannoch Moor

A misty Scottish gale blows fierce From the grey that clouds the hills I step onto her western way Desolate, damp and chilled Her grasses grow brown and lavender Stretching as far as I can see While Hill tops and the horizon Lead me deep into a peaty sea From the banks of black Loch Tula At the base of rocky Bens, I walk this winding pathway Bearing forward to Ba bridge I stop to survey the ruins That were once, hardier than I And climb up to a mountain's pass with Glencoe in my sights The Buachaille and Beinn a' Chrulaiste Towers high out from the fog Herding me towards the gateway Of the Glen and from the bog And yet that cold wind continues Against me all the while And the rain blows much harder Urging me to turn away But the Highland call has taken me From far enough away That I see the moor's true beauty Even on this rainy day.