The Last Dance

Fields that once were ripe with crops Now play host to blackface and cheviot Where the children ran and played Among the bluebell and the thistle Now screams the wind in bansidhe wail Looking for those who once dwelt there. This land was once our land Where we lived and loved Rings now with silence In this our last dance. In wooden vessels on the clyde Like the silver darlings They were packed side by side Across the mighty sea To lands of distant shore. Homes in ruin lie ivy on the roof Grass cropped short by a million mouths Flies the eagle his gaze on land below Looking for the people who danced to natures tune Still grow the bluebells among Pine and birks and stream. Apm 4/1/14 1.25 am.