Scottish Hiland Encounter
A lonely solitary sound
With voice still young and yet profound
Floats lightly cross a mountain stream;
Her song an all consuming dream.
No Nightingale has pined as sweet
Nor laid such beauty at my feet.
Such plaintive strains of purity
Enrapture like a symphony.
No springtime trill of Whippoorwill
Can touch so much my weary will
Or shine as bright a healing light
To lift the darkness from the night.
No Sirens of exotic seas
Heard off the Southern Hebrides
Could lift so high my troubled soul
Or fill it full to joyous whole.
Her Highland Gaelic, lost to me,
In perfect pitch and melody.
Yet language lost does not affect
My love for ancient dialect.
And now across a foggy stream
I see her there as in a dream;
She sees me standing here amiss,
Then throws a sweet and blissful kiss.
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