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The Red Moss of Glen Affric

The phantoms of Glen Affric call
from deep within the histosol,
where time and matter’s slow decay
of misty glen and ancient fray,

conceal Mackenzie ghosts in wait
with weapons drawn to greet their fate
of claymore blade; of Celtic cross,
to shed the blood of William Ross,

and stain the sphagnum bryophyte,
his soul to cut and extradite.

Amidst the whipping hilltop squall
is heard their eerie battle call,
where shadow soldiers groan and splay
upon the hazy, darkened brae.

As well, the spill of blood and spate,
the earth to curse and consecrate;
the peat to quench; the land emboss,
forever running red the moss

to reclaim Scotland by birthright
for Stuart reign and Jacobite.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

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Date: 8/12/2019 2:21:00 AM
Why this does not have a billion comments is beyond me. If this were poetrysoup of old I would have given it a string of sevens. A fabulous write and a fav of mine
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Mo Avatar
Marugu Mo
Date: 8/12/2019 3:43:00 AM
I hope it does come back. Circa 2012 to 2015 ps was definitely different. Thanks for your kind comments on my poetry
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Thvia Shetley
Date: 8/12/2019 3:30:00 AM
Thank you for your kind words. I post very infrequently and have definitely noticed a decline in interaction on the site. I hope it makes a comeback.