Tuesday, 22 May 2012

Sons Of The Glen - The Forty Twa

The Sun rises over the snow-capped ranges
Its glittering rays stabbing at the upturned soil
The shoots of dawn rising up, like warriors in the field
The Sons of The Glen face another day’s toil
Mist creeps through the shadows and slides aimlessly through the forests
Twinkling sunlight reflects off the loch, calm, still, serene
The Red Stag stands, watching, waiting, majestic as he patrols the moor
The warm glow of the Northern sun covers all in a shimmering sheen

As the hatchlings wait to begin their journey into life
The Osprey swoops on its unsuspecting prey
The salmon leaps and dances far from the clutch of the talons
And the Mothers of The Glen face the long struggle of another day
The Haar burns silently away in the early morning light
And the valley sweeps long and wide till the Crags meet the head of the Glen
The booming call of the Stag echoing in the crisp morning air
Untroubled, as yet, by the footsteps and marauding of men

His slumbers now ended, his dreams drift away softly, broken
He rises as the dawn light filters through the shaded screen
His fast now broken, his armour adorned in the dust and the heat
The Fathers of The Glen will wait silent, unseen
The harvested fields await the renewal of life, the rebirth, to renew
Winter is over, summers instruments readied and prepared to play
As the Piper calls out the tune, The Red Hackles muster, and think of their kin
The Ladies From Hell will dance The Heilan Laddie today.

© Fergus Martin